I Will Wait
by Kinthinia
Summary: The Alpha Council is forcing Steve to get married as he is the only successful subject of Project Rebirth. He has one month to choose between five candidates and five years to produce an heir. Sequel to City of Angels; can be read on its own.
1. Origin of Love

The graveyard was nearly obscured by the church's imposing shadow, but he was familiar enough with the area to know how to get there. It was early in the evening still, but in the chill of November, the sun was hidden behind the church. Steve adjusted his hold on the bouquet of orchids that looked out of place in the dreary graveyard. There were spots of snow in a few places and many of the graves were in poor shape. But Steve kept to the pathway, his feet taking him to the headstone hidden under a holly tree. There was a fresh bouquet of carnations laid at the base of the grave and Steve kneeled down, placing his flowers beside the others. He glanced up at the plaque and as always, it felt like the breath had been sucker punched from him. It was an empty grave with a mystery never solved. _Bucky Barnes –To live in the hearts of those we love is to never die_.

It had been eighteen years since anyone had last seen Bucky and today was the anniversary of his disappearance, or his death. There were too many missing Omegas for the police to concern themselves about. Steve exhaled softly, rising to his feet. One of his biggest regrets was that he hadn't been home at the time Bucky disappeared –he never would have quit searching, he would have driven the officers insane with his pestering but he would have wasted away worrying about his best friend. And if he had been home when Bucky disappeared all those years ago, then he never would have been involved in Project Rebirth. Sometimes he hated himself for having been there when Bucky could have needed him here. But he'd done a lot of good, as a soldier and as an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. Funny, how eighteen years later and Steve still thought of Brooklyn as his home. He hadn't lived in New York in years and it had been even longer since he lived in Brooklyn. But it still felt like home. Except for the very obvious missing pieces –it's why he couldn't stand to stay in New York or live in Brooklyn. The family he had was dead and gone.

Steve's mother had died of pneumonia three months after he was sent to Camp Lehigh for Project Rebirth. His last living family member and he hadn't even known she was sick. They weren't allowed much correspondence and it was a fact that he and his mother both knew. There were a lot of risks, really, in sending him to Project Rebirth for three years of testing and training. But he wanted it more than anything –he had important things to do and he couldn't do them if he was frail and on the verge of death every other week. He was as likely to die by illness as he was by the experimentation in Project Rebirth –so he and his mother both signed away his life. Not that he minded, the army was a good fit for him. It had done a lot for him. At twelve, he returned to Brooklyn for his mother's funeral and Bucky met him there. It was the Barnes' who stepped up and covered the cost of the funeral, who went to the graveyard to pay their respects and it was Bucky who tried to convince him not to go through with Project Rebirth.

"Stevie, you don't gotta do it, you're fine just the way you are," Bucky had said, staring down at him fiercely.

"That's not the point," Steve had protested, digging through his pockets as he tried to find his keys.

"Then what is?" Bucky had demanded, bending down to snag the key hidden under the welcome mat. "Cause the way I see it, you've gone off and signed up to be some scientists' Guinea pig when you could come to my place. My folks wouldn't mind, you could stay however long you needed. Just do a few chores or something, y'know?"

"I have to do this," Steve had replied stubbornly, taking the key. "Buck, I just, I can't keep living like this," he exhaled wheezily, hating the way all the fight had drained out of him so easily.

Bucky had sighed and nodded, throwing his arm around Steve's. "Well then, we'd better have one hell of a going away party for you this time, huh?"

It was the first time someone had tried to tell him not to go through with Project Rebirth and it was the last time he ever saw Bucky. He wouldn't find out that Bucky had gone missing until he was eighteen years old and free to decide his own future as he was no longer in the military's custody. The first thing he did was call the Barnes. The second thing he did was go to Colonel Phillips and punch him in the face. It was the first time he had a disciplinary action written down in his file but he didn't care. The letters and phone calls the Barnes had tried sending never reached Steve because the Colonel didn't want to lose Steve for any longer. He was the only participant who had left the project for personal leave. It took him five years to learn that his best friend was missing. He'd been devastated and depressed in equal measure as more time passed and he hadn't heard from Bucky, but he'd always attributed it to their different beliefs and the fact that Bucky had a life outside of the military. With his mother's passing and all the forms she had signed, Steve belonged to the military until he was of legal age. And afterwards, there wasn't anyone or anything left for him that wasn't connected to the military. So he went to New York, back to Brooklyn to pay his respects to the Barnes' and try to learn what he could about his missing friend. But there was no news.

It was common for Omegas to be kidnapped. It happened, everyone knew it. There were too many missing people for the police to investigate them all but sometimes they would try. If there was a reward, for instance, they would actually put some effort into doing their jobs. Everyone in the neighborhood had scraped together what they could and put it towards finding Bucky Barnes but try as the police supposedly did, Bucky had disappeared without a trace. He was just a kid –he was thirteen years old, street smart and confident. He wouldn't have gone down without a fight but there was only so much anyone could do in a given situation. And Bucky had been on cheap suppressants to try and hide it –he'd been buying them with the money he got from delivering newspapers around the block. There were a lot of people who wanted Omegas –those that ran trafficking rings and used Omegas in vile ways, those who thought Omegas should serve them, any lonely Alpha who felt entitled to taking what he or she wanted just because of their orientation and then there was Hydra. Steve didn't learn about Hydra until he was working for the army but by then it was too late to do anything.

Ten years ago, Mrs. Barnes died due to a heart attack. Eight years ago, Mr. Barnes' passed away after a severe stroke. Steve hadn't been able to make it to either funeral, but he received Rebecca's letters. Until their deaths, both George and Winifred had adamantly believed that Bucky was still out there somewhere. Rebecca did too of course, but she needed some peace of mind she had explained. Five years she invited Steve to come down and help her find a place to let go of the big brother she would always be waiting for. For the past thirteen years, the Barnes held a candlelight vigil and a prayer for Bucky –but Rebecca was alone in her grief now that her parents had passed. So Steve helped her choose an empty plot of land and helped her find the right words to put on the tombstone for her brother and his best friend. She was only seven years old when Bucky disappeared and she would never stop hoping that he came home, but she also couldn't continue to mourn his loss the way her parents had. The grave was her way of moving on. But like Steve, on the anniversary of Bucky's disappearance, they would each pay their respects. For the last six years, Steve had come back to Brooklyn for just that purpose and today was yet another day to grieve the loss of his best friend and pray that he was alive and safe somewhere in the world.

"Steve?" Steve turned, offering Rebecca a sad smile. She smiled weakly as well as she stepped closer, a bouquet of roses in hand. "Hey Steve," she said softly, wrapping her arms around his middle.

She wasn't very tall, like her mother. Only standing at five foot three, but she squeezed him just as tightly as she had when she was a little girl. Sometimes it was hard to remember she was a grown woman now, married and with her own life. At times like these, it was almost like they were children again. Almost but never quite because the one person who centered those days was gone. And it had left both of them un-centered and on wobbly feet, trying to find their own way in the world now that their center was gone. Sometimes, Steve wondered if that was how the Barnes' had felt too. Bucky was the heart of their family –hell, he was the heart of the whole neighborhood.

"Hey Becca," Steve replied quietly, hugging her back.

"It's good to see you," she said, stepping back to lay her bouquet at Bucky's grave.

"I thought maybe I'd missed you," Steve commented, gesturing at the chrysanthemums.

"Those are probably from Dan," Rebecca said fondly.

Two years ago, she'd gotten married to Daniel Proctor. Steve nearly missed the wedding due to a mission but Phil let him off the hook and he made it just in time to wish them both heartfelt congratulations before he was leaving to board a quinjet with Clint and Natasha. He'd only met Dan once or twice but he seemed like a good guy. If a little bit obnoxious and childish. But he was good for Rebecca, he made her smile and laugh and it was good to see her relax some. Perhaps the best thing about Dan was how obviously he cared for Rebecca. Bucky probably would have hated Dan.

"That's nice of him," Steve said. Dan had never met Bucky; he was a new resident in Brooklyn, having moved here from Colorado.

Rebecca nodded, smiling sadly at the gravestone. "I wish I was naïve enough to think he might still come home one day. And there's a part of me that still thinks he will but…" She sighed heavily. "I know he's just one in a hundred thousand cases. And he isn't going to come back."

Surprising no one, Rebecca had decided to become a police officer. She could have played dirty but she wasn't interested in that. She was interested in changing the way the law enforcement worked and she had taken several officers to jail before when she caught them charging families to find their missing relatives. She knew how it felt to be on the victims' side of things and she refused to allow anyone in her department to engage in any kind of wrongdoing. She knew the statistics inside and out and whenever she could, she would take a look at those cold cases like her brother's.

"We don't know that," Steve pointed out gently. "He's always been tough and resourceful. He might show up, one day."

"Dan wants to start a family," she confessed abruptly. "I don't know if I'm ready for that."

Steve glanced at her. "I think you know the answer."

Rebecca bit the inside of her cheek. "Maybe I do," she admitted.

"It's okay to be scared," Steve said, reaching over to rub her back. She might not be his little sister biologically but she was as good as. "But don't let it stop you from living your life."

Rebecca was a Beta, born of an Alpha and Omega union. The fact that they had an Omega son meant that Rebecca's chances of conceiving an Omega herself were higher. And those statistics went even higher if there were any Omegas in Dan's immediate family. Kind of like the way twins worked. It wasn't a for sure thing, but the possibility was there and had to be considered. Especially if someone was worried about the fact that their Omega child would be at a greater risk for being kidnapped or abused. It wasn't right. It wasn't right at all and Steve wished there was more he could do about it. He could remember those days where he was taught to be afraid and cautious because he was at risk for being stolen from the streets. Bucky always walked him home though, much as Steve grumbled and complained loudly about how unnecessary it was. People didn't mess with Bucky, it just wasn't done.

"Yeah," she murmured, staring at Bucky's grave as tears filled her eyes.

 _Eighteen years since you disappeared_ , Steve thought mournfully, _and we're still here crying for you._ Steve swallowed back his own emotions, exhaling shakily. _I wish we could be out there, saving you_. Instead of being stuck in this awful limbo. Was he alive or was he dead? Was he okay? He probably wouldn't be okay by any definition of the word, but if he was alive, if he was alive that was something. It was so much more than the nothing they had here and now. But there was no sign of Bucky as always. Steve put his arm around Rebecca and they held onto each other for a long moment, sharing in their grief. Steve was around the Barnes' so often he was practically family, and it was the same with Bucky coming around to his place. Sometimes it felt like Rebecca was the closest thing to family he had left.

Rebecca pulled away after a moment, sweeping her hand across her eyes. "You coming to the chapel tonight?"

"Wouldn't miss it," Steve said, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"'Kay," she said, nodding.

For a moment, he thought she was going to say something more but she didn't. As much as they both liked seeing each other, it was just as hard to see each other. Everything about her reminded him of Bucky and he was pretty sure she felt the same way about him. It wasn't something either of them could stop feeling and so they didn't talk about it. They pretended it was normal to only see each other once a year, when Steve came to drop flowers on an empty grave and pray in a chapel. It was their normal. They spent a few more moments together in silence before walking the six blocks that took them to the chapel. Daniel was already there with a handful of others, each of them holding a candle. Steve accepted his candle with a murmur of thanks and moved to stand behind Daniel as Rebecca squeezed in beside her husband. Steve didn't really know the others –an aunt and an uncle of Bucky's and their children. The priest led them in a prayer of hope, a little different than the ones that had been spoken years before. He hoped for Bucky's safety and health and for him to return home. They held a silent vigil for an hour afterwards. But slowly, the aunt and uncle blew their candles out and left, their children following after them. Daniel blew his candle out next, and then it was Steve and Rebecca who blew their flames out.

Rebecca held onto Daniel's hand as the two of them exited the chapel. Steve nodded at the priest respectfully, remembering the few times when his mother and Bucky's parents had managed to corral them into attending church. It was a nightmare for both him and Bucky, neither of them interest in attending and they'd both gotten very good at sneaking off to avoid it. But there were a few times when they had been caught and dressed up and forced to attend. They would make faces and giggle and laugh at each other, trying to avoid notice. They never were subtle. By the time they were ten, their parents gave up on bringing them to church for which Steve and Bucky were both grateful. Rebecca used to watch them go wistfully. Sometimes Bucky would bring her with but usually not. Steve exhaled softly and left the chapel, nearly walking into Rebecca and her husband.

"Thanks for coming," Rebecca said, smiling up at him sadly. Her electric blue eyes reminded him of Bucky and he had to look away for a moment, nodding his agreement. She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "It means a lot to me, that you still come."

"I'll always come," Steve said, sharing a sad smile with her. "You are family to me. And so is he. Wherever he is right now, that hasn't changed."

"Do you –do you think he's scared to come back?" she asked, her voice small and fragile.

"Maybe," Steve offered. "Maybe he's scared we won't accept who he's become or the things he's done." He couldn't help but think of Clint and Natasha and their long struggle in overcoming what Hydra had done to them. "But we will. He's still family and whatever he has or hasn't done, we'd rather have him in our lives than not."

Rebecca nodded. "Yeah, we will." She leaned against her husband. "What do you think he's doing now?"

"I bet he's thinking about us," Steve answered confidently. "Remembering the good times."

This was a game of sorts that he and Rebecca played every time they saw each other. Guessing what Bucky was doing, pretending it was okay, pretending _they_ were okay. Because for this one day in the year, neither of them were okay and they could admit it to each other even if they couldn't say it to anyone else. Although Rebecca's husband probably knew by this point, considering they were married.

"Maybe he's thinking about the future," Daniel offered, rubbing his hands along Rebecca's shoulder. "What the first thing he'll do with his freedom is the first person he'll hug and the first person he'll kiss."

"Well that'd be Steve," Rebecca teased, grinning in delight as Steve's face turned red. "Steve Rogers you're a grown man and I can _still_ turn your face as red as a cherry tomato!"

Steve rolled his eyes exaggeratedly. "Not everything about me changes," he argued.

"When's the last time you kissed someone?" she inquired, peering at him in concern. "It's not good if you go too long without kissing someone."

"She's right you know," Daniel agreed, flashing a warm smile in Steve's direction.

"See? Dan's a health teacher, he would know."

"I've kissed enough people," Steve stuttered out. "I'm _fine_." It was bad enough he got it from Natasha at work.

"Oh I'm sure you have," Rebecca said, waggling her eyebrows. "You better start kissing just one person and stick to them, you hear?"

"When I find the right partner," Steve hedged, "I'll let you know."

"You better!"

Although Steve wasn't sure if he was going to find a partner at this time. And not for a lack of trying on his part or his partners'. They just didn't have enough shared past –they didn't understand what it was like. They thought that because he was an Alpha he should treat them like any Alpha would and they deferred to him and it was horribly uncomfortable. And he knew if he said anything to Natasha she would start setting him up with the kind of men and women who were more flexible and less traditional. But he wanted to find a partner on his own. On his own terms and win them over by being Steve Rogers. Not because he was Captain America. Not because the Black Widow had terrorized them into agreeing without intending to do so, and not because she sold him as Steve Rogers too well. Either way, even with her help, there wasn't much chance that he would find someone who could understand his situation. Other than Bruce Banner perhaps, but he was involved with Tony Stark and Steve had never been interested in Banner from the start. Natasha understood of course too, but she wasn't interested in pursuing a relationship for herself. She seemed more interested in living vicariously through Clint and Phil –especially whenever they provided her the opportunity to laugh at them, which was often, but neither Clint nor Phil minded.

Rebecca hugged him goodbye like she always did. And like always there was an awkward tension between them –like they were both on the verge of asking the other out to coffee but they both knew neither of them would be able to stand it. Because no matter what, at the end of the day, there was a chasm between them just big enough for Bucky Barnes to fill. And without him, the chasm only seemed to grow.

"It was good seeing you again," Rebecca mumbled fervently against his shoulder. "I wish we could see each other more often."

"Me too," Steve said simply, setting his hand on her back.

Daniel was standing at the church gates, his hands in his pockets, giving them their space. He was intuitive and brilliantly empathetic –a good match for Rebecca. Since she had met him, she seemed better for it. Less revenge driven. Neither Steve nor Rebecca could move on from Bucky, but they could move around him and bring him with them. Steve had used S.H.I.E.L.D. resources to make the occasional, discrete inquiry and if anything turned up in New York, he always passed the information onto Rebecca. There were too many James Barnes' in search records to be of use. And beyond Bucky's birth certificate, school records and missing person report, there were no other James Buchanan Barnes on file. He was a ghost –disappeared without a trace. So Steve just updated Rebecca when he could on any Omega traffickers in her area. S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't always have the resources and sometimes Steve really hated how they bargained the traffickers' jail prisons for information. He was careful with what he shared, to make sure the cases weren't active or high priority. They could be safely handed down to Rebecca.

"Do you think… do you think he would have liked Daniel?" Rebecca asked, pulling away slowly, wrapping her arms around her middle.

"I think he would have hated him. Imagine them trying to get along. Bucky would have been yanking on his ear until he snapped and they would probably have to fight it out. But he'd come to his senses when he saw how good Dan is for you."

Rebecca smiled tenderly. "You think so?"

"Yeah," Steve said confidently. "I'm sure of it. Bucky and his humor against Dan and his obnoxious charm?"

Rebecca laughed, clasping her hand over her mouth in surprise. "That does make sense," she agreed. "I sometimes forget he can be like that."

"Must be the curse of marriage," Steve joked. "You live with him long enough, you get used to his flaws."

Rebecca smacked his arm harmlessly. "Steven Rogers! Keep talking like that and you'll never get married at this rate. What'll I do then?"

"Have children and pester them about weddings?" Steve offered, grinning at her.

"That'll take years," Rebecca pouted. But within a few moments, the energy around them shifted into something more somber and serious. "Do you think we'll ever see him again?"

"I don't know," Steve answered honestly, turning to gaze at the church. "I really hope we do. And I won't stop believing he's out there –but I don't know."

"I-I don't know, sometimes, whether the hope is a good thing or not. Sometimes I hate it. But I can't just stop believing either."

"I know," Steve answered quietly.

He'd spent days of his own wondering. Years of his life, really, wondering about Bucky's fate. Hoping and never getting any closer to finding an answer. He didn't know if the hope was better or not –because it was just as possible that one day Bucky's dead body would turn up. And then what? At least they had hope. Hope but no closure, no answers, no clues. Sometimes he hated himself for thinking like that so he tried not to. It was easier to keep moving, to keep busy, to save up his questions and feelings for this one day of the year. The one day where he could connect with Rebecca who knew how it felt.

"One year," Rebecca said suddenly. "I'll wait one year. To decide if I –if I really want to start a family."

"What'll the deciding votes be based on?"

"How many lost children I can find," she answered grimly. "How many cold cases I can close."

"That's not fair for you or Daniel," he pointed out.

"I won't lose my own child to this world, Steve." Rebecca spared him an evaluative look. "I wouldn't survive it. There are other options anyways. We could adopt. But I won't… I have to make this place better for my children. For everyone."

"You don't have to do it alone, Becca," Steve said urgently. "I'm doing what I can. So is S.H.I.E.L.D. We're all trying."

"Sometimes, it just isn't enough," she sighed. "It really isn't. And I know you do what you can –I know the anonymous tips come from you. But we need to make bigger changes someday. Like getting rid of Hydra completely, or making the government listen."

"About Hydra," Steve started, "we're dealing with that."

"About time."

Steve nodded in agreement, slipping his hands into his coat pockets. It was getting cold fast. "Don't let lose yourself in this quest Rebecca. You have a husband who loves you very much. And I know your department is clean because of you. You've already made waves. Don't forget what progress you have."

"Yeah." She nodded. "I'll try. Thank you Steve." She turned to go.

"If Bucky were here, if your parents were here, they'd want you to know they're proud of you. You've done amazing things, Becca. Never forget that."

He pretended he didn't see the tears glistening in her eyes as she hurried back to her husband. These days, it was too easy to fall into the darkness that was swimming everywhere. After the events of the Battle of New York, Steve had been more determined than ever to do something about Hydra. It had provided him an opportunity to rejoin a Strike team and Natasha signed up right along next to him. At first it was weird doing it without Clint and with a bigger team, but he adjusted quickly. And anyways, the time and space had been doing wonders for Clint lately. He wasn't half as scowly anymore although that might have had more to do with Coulson than anything. Who could say for sure? But being part of a Strike team had left him with a purpose. And a part of him hoped that one day he would be able to rescue Bucky. He would break into a facility and find and save him. Like when they were children playing cops and robbers, playing games of make-believe.

He just wanted to find his friend and bring him home. But at this point, for Bucky, what was home? Steve had a house in D.C. he didn't live in Brooklyn or even New York. Rebecca lived in Hell's Kitchen these days because it was close to her commute and Daniel's. Bucky's parents were both dead and buried. Even if he came "home" there wouldn't be much of a home for him. But… but if Bucky did suddenly show up, Steve would do everything in his power to _make_ a home for his best friend. Even if that meant moving back into Brooklyn. And he knew Rebecca would do the same, whatever the cost, however impossible. Rebecca was the only family Bucky had left and Steve was the next best thing. They'd spent eighteen years without any proof of him being alive. They could spend years rebuilding their broken family to include Bucky in it without complaint. Because then, then at least they would know that he was alive. That he was safe and whole and in one-piece. And even if he wasn't, even if he wasn't safe or whole or all together, they'd be there for him. They'd know he was alive. And Bucky would know he had a family waiting for him whether he wanted that family or not.

Daniel wrapped his arm around Rebecca's shoulders and together the two of them disappeared under the falling snow as they returned to their car. Steve sighed softly. Sometimes he wanted a significant other, but mostly he was okay being on his own. Sometimes he even liked it. As he turned to go, a flash of silver caught his eye from the graveyard. He stopped and with a furtive glance around –he saw no one and nothing out of place –he started walking back towards the cemetery. The flash had just been for a moment and it was probably nothing but… Sometimes he just got a gut feeling. It was like a pull from his very center that told him he needed to investigate. So he kept walking until he reached the grave underneath the holly tree.

A layer of fine, white snow had settled over the flowers and the headstone. But where the wind had been blowing the snow in against the tomb, the epitaph was freshly clean, staunchly barren of snow where the rest was painted white.


	2. The Ghost Of You

Steve's hands shook as he stared at the letter in front of him, unable to read another word of the offensive material. He knew –he'd known for a few months now that it was a possibility, that the Alpha Council _could_ , in theory, force him to do this but he hadn't honestly thought they would actually do it. In living memory, they'd never before sent out such an order but they were taking exception to him. Because he was the sole successor of Project Rebirth. As such he was an even more valued member of society and he had certain expectations he had to fulfil. And if he didn't… Steve crumpled the letter up and threw it as far as he could. The paper ball bounced against the corner of the room and rolled out of sight. They had placed him on leave of duty. This was so far above Fury's head that it was laughable –there was nothing anyone could do to get him out of this situation.

Everything had been arranged already. Due to his failure to start a family of his own, the Alpha Council had stepped in and was arranging it for him. The Alpha Council was figurehead governance; they were there to ensure that the population saw steady increases and to monitor the Alpha/Beta/Omega ratios. It had been over one hundred years since they last arranged a marriage for anyone. Their letter claimed that they had made an exception for Steve specifically because of his Project Rebirth involvement and because they needed to ensure he remained virile long enough to start a family. After he was married, he would have five years to produce an heir or he would be expected to start looking for a new spouse. He supposed they had meant for him to feel grateful that they hadn't chosen his partner for him and had instead left him several options. Names and facts listed about each possible candidate –all five of them. But after signing his life up to the military for nearly a decade because of Project Rebirth, he felt nothing but resentment. He was not going to do this willingly, not if he could fight it.

But every lawyer he contacted said the same thing. An Alpha Council order could not be fought against in court. Nelson was the only lawyer who would explain why without trying to con Steve into coming down to his office and being charged for his time there. He just needed answers.

"There's this loophole, made way back when the president and the Supreme Court were worried there would be no humanity left at all. They let the Alpha Council take blood samples and issue other tests, pairing the most virile couples together. That law was never repealed and the Alpha Council is always worried about populace numbers slipping, see, so they won't relinquish that control. And I don't think President Ellis wants to get into a power struggle –there are still factions out there convinced that the Alpha Council should be doing more in case another disease happens. If the president ignores those issues, they mostly just go away. I'm sorry, Mr. Rogers, really I am."

Steve sighed heavily. "I have to go through with this?"

"Even if we took it to court, it would take _years_ to sort anything out. And there would be no guarantee that the law could be repealed in which case, during the time we were at court, you'd still be expected to marry, I'm afraid."

"This isn't right," Steve said, frustrated.

"You're right, it isn't. If my partner were here, he'd be all for taking this to court. But I don't think it will get you anywhere, just entangle you in court battles for years and attract a media frenzy. People are still scared of what happened."

"A media frenzy might result in the Alpha Council issuing more marriages," Steve said slowly.

"It could," Nelson hedged. "They're legally entitled to do so."

He thought about Natasha and Bruce, the only other surviving members of Project Rebirth. Neither of them were 'successful' like he was. He was the only Omega and he was the only one whose orientation was altered. Being an Omega wasn't something he was ashamed of or looking to change but it was one of the effects the scientists had been interested in. He'd never really felt like an Omega though and he couldn't say he regretted that change. It made life easier in a number of ways. But he would always remember what it was like being so small. He was the only one whose body changed significantly –at sixteen he put on an extra fifty pounds in muscle weight and actually started to look like a military-trained combatant. He also grew a foot. By the time the whole project was over, he was over six feet tall and around two hundred pounds of muscle. Blonsky's transformation didn't could because he became, well, an Abomination. And Schmidt's deserved even less consideration seeing as he died. Which as far as Steve was concerned, was the best outcome for everyone other than Schmidt and whatever family he might have. So even if he went through with the Alpha Council's demands, they wouldn't be able to turn on Natasha or Bruce. Especially considering they couldn't measure Bruce's bloodwork seeing as how it would be radioactive and all from what Steve could understand. Perhaps most importantly, neither of them were Alphas. Although the Hulk was, and in that case, Steve would very much enjoy watching the Alpha Council enforce their rules onto the Hulk.

"I understand. Thank you Mr. Nelson. You've been very helpful. If I have any difficulties or plan on taking them to court, it'll be your office I contact."

Nelson was clearly flustered by his words and it took him a few moments to respond. He wished Steve good luck and apologized again for not being able to do more before hanging up. He paced his living room absently. He hated feeling like he had no other option. The Alpha Council _were_ forcing him into this. It wasn't like he could claim to have a significant other now as they had stated they'd already spoken with his close associates who had informed them of Steve's singlehood. If he refused to marry, they would put him in jail or worse. And it wasn't that he was upset at the prospect of marriage –he was upset that he had no power over it. He didn't know anyone on that list. But he supposed he should be grateful that they had given him mixed genders, although not orientations. The Alpha Council's orders were absolute. Only the president himself could override it and while Steve could have maybe called on a personal favor either for himself or through request of Tony, neither option would win him favor or free him from this situation. He was a gifted soldier and biologically enhanced. The president and half his senators, if not all of them, would want to see more super-soldiers created. Especially if the cost was so low as to force Steve into marriage. It was better than killing him and dissecting him, in their minds; Steve figured that was how they would end up justifying their decision.

While he didn't have to remain married to whoever it was of the few names they'd provided him with, Steve knew without a doubt that he would give everything he could to the marriage. An arranged marriage didn't ruin the sanctity of a marriage and he still got to meet with his potential spouses before anything went further. He had some choice in who he got to marry. And as such, it was going to be someone he thought he could build a future with. He didn't want to get married, he didn't want to have to listen to the Alpha Council orders, but he would. And he wouldn't take it out on his potential spouses either because they were innocent in this too. Arranged marriages weren't that uncommon, especially for rich Omegas and Alphas. Betas had a lot more freedom. It wasn't as though the Alpha Council hadn't warned him either; after his engagement with Tony Stark fell through, they'd told him he would have a year or two to find himself a partner before they did it themselves. He hadn't believed them then. Now he was out of time and out of options.

As much as he would love to take them to court, he didn't have the time for that. He was supposed to be out there fighting Hydra and saving the good guys. But the Alpha Council had given him a year's leave from his service. And that must have pissed Fury off. It also might have explained why Natasha had recently taken such a keen interest in his dating life as she tried to set him up with anyone she could find. It was too late to regret turning her offers down now. He set his jaw stubbornly before letting out a breath of frustration and wandering over to search for the crumpled ball of paper. Steve methodically unfolded it, sitting down on his couch uneasily as he reread it carefully.

 _Dear Captain Rogers,_

 _Following your esteemed military career after the success of Project Rebirth, it has been our pleasure to witness your fine exemplary actions first hand saving New York. However, as a prime Alpha candidate and the only successor of Project Rebirth we came to a consensus regarding our duties. Though it has been many years since we enacted this, we fear that if we wait any longer the chances of a viable pregnancy will decrease for you and your partner. As such, you are hereby on an indeterminate leave for the duration of these processions. With your current age you are still at peak virility and we wish to see your legacy carry on through biological heirs. We spoke with several confidants of yours and we feel reassured knowing that you are not currently in a relationship. Therefore we have taken the opportunity to contact several Omegas who are compatible and equally virile in order to secure heirs. From the time of your marriage, you will have five years to produce an heir. At the time that an heir has been conceived, you are free to divorce or annul the partnership with no repercussions to you or your spouse. It is our belief that this be done in your best interests and in the interest of the United States of America. We hope you understand the decision was not an easy one for us to reach, but we have agreed that it is the best way forward._

 _Carter, Sharon. Age twenty-eight, Level Eight security clearance at S.H.I.E.L.D. Enjoys art and appreciates nature, she is a skilled marksman. You will meet with her on the seventeenth of March at the Smithsonian 12pm._

 _Hodge, Gilmore. Age thirty, mechanical engineer at Hammer Industries. Has a black belt in judo and is an accomplished martial artist known for volunteering at animal shelters. You will meet with him on the twenty-fourth of March at the Aka Dojo at 11am._

 _Hart, Zoey. Age thirty-three, human rights lawyer at Rose & Lark. She is a collector of art, an avid reader and talented musician. You will meet with her on the first of April at the National Gallery of Art, 2pm._

 _Barnes, James. Age thirty-two, decorated army veteran. He is an eager fan of all things science fiction, fluent in Russian and French, and a connoisseur of all things delicious. You will meet with him on the seventh of April at the Blue Duck Tavern, 7pm._

 _Neumann, Bonnie. Age twenty-nine, photographer for National Geographic. She is a strong activist for her community and others and routinely helps clean up the environment, she is a fan of the orchestra. You will meet with her on the tenth of April at the National Symphony Orchestra, 6pm._

 _If you fail to meet with any of the potentials listed above, or fail to choose one, you will be imprisoned. And if you continue to refuse, our persuasion methods may become less socially acceptable. This is an action within our rights to take and we truly hope you can understand our concerns. We look forward to seeing you on the seventeenth of April, 9am, with your chosen partner._

 _Sincerely, your Alpha representatives._

They had all signed their names in elaborate fashion at the bottom of the page, not that Steve cared. Not when he apparently had a date tomorrow afternoon. He wasn't even sure if the facts were facts that each person had listed for themselves or if the Alpha Council had chosen how to represent them too. Did they even know who they might be getting married to? He'd heard of Sharon Carter before but he'd never actually met her. Natasha or Clint might have but they were both out of the country right now on an undercover operation. Strike Team Iota –Steve's team –was supposed to be joining them tomorrow. But now he had a date to go on instead. It felt like he was betraying the others. At least Sharon would be able to understand that, he hoped.

He had less than a month to meet each potential spouse and to choose them. And no picture to help him recognize who he was meeting so hopefully the others had received a photo of Steve which they could use to identify him. Seeing as all he had was their name. Steve sighed. And no friends in town who he could call on for help either. He read the letter over a few more times, wondering what he was supposed to do with such little information on each potential partner. He hated that he had to do this. Whether he wanted to have kids or not should be a decision left to him and his partner and whether or not he _did_ have kids was definitely a choice between him and his partner. He'd given so much to his country, so much to the military already. But this was it. This was his line in the sand. He would do exactly what they wanted him to do but if anyone asked him to do something as ridiculous as this; he was not going to do it. He wasn't going to fight this in court simply because he didn't want the Alpha Council to start dictating to anyone else about who they could or could not marry. If he went along with it, it'd stay out of the media and other than his friends no one would be any wiser.

Tomorrow he had a date at the Smithsonian. It was going to go horribly. Of that he had no doubt. He enjoyed art himself and he sketched in his free time but he wasn't an expert in it by any means. And while he was well-read on history, he wasn't sure if he was going to enjoy the Smithsonian. Especially since they had just opened their new Captain America exhibit with a specific segment on his time in Afghanistan. He'd been avoiding it so far. He wished there was more information about the people he was expected to marry. But there wasn't. So he spent the day nervous and trying to come up with appropriate small talk conversation. Mostly, his thoughts kept circling the big questions –had she or he willingly signed up for this and how did she or he feel about having an arranged marriage? Steve wasn't sure if that was the kind of discussion he wanted to have in a museum –he wasn't even sure if it was a conversation he would be able to have in a martial arts dojo let alone at an orchestra. He was not looking forward to meeting either Gilmore or Bonnie. James and Rose both seemed intriguing. And he couldn't help but –James Barnes, one year older than him –and he knew there was no way it was going to be Bucky but…

Steve shoved his running shoes on and tossed his jacket aside, locking his apartment after him as he headed out. He needed to burn off some energy. He didn't pick any route in particular; just let his feet carry him where they wanted to go. By the time he was done, he'd run more miles than he could count and he was actually out of breath. Most importantly, he felt a bit better about the whole situation. He was keeping the rest of the population safe from this kind of a situation. He startled when his phone went off, a shrill blare in the quiet dusk of the neighborhood he'd stopped to catch his breath in.

"Rogers speaking," he answered.

"What's the Alpha Council got you doing, Cap?" Fury asked, sounding resigned. "They don't just put their noses where they don't belong unless they've got an ace up their sleeve and I've never seen them do this before."

"I'd rather not discuss it until I have to," Steve replied guardedly.

"Whatever they've got you doing, I can't get you out of it. I've come awfully close to pulling in favors for this one and there's nothing anyone can do."

"This one's my fault, apparently," Steve said, wiping his hand across his brow. "I'll get it sorted out as soon as I can."

"Keep safe, Rogers," Fury said. "I don't like the Alpha Council very much, even less when they stick their noses in my business. You understand me?"

"Absolutely sir."

Fury hung up. Steve sighed softly. He was certain that part of the arranged marriage would require an actual wedding ceremony of some sort. But he also knew that if he told anyone they would be up in arms about getting rid of the Alpha Council to get him out of this situation. They'd warned him of this when Tony had ended their engagement. He should have fought it back then, taken their warning seriously. And Fury had said he'd called on his friends and none of them had been willing to get involved. This was his battle. Fighting it wouldn't get him what he wanted but neither would agreeing but of the two choices, agreeing would get him further. He would gladly take one for the team if it meant keeping Bruce and Natasha out of a situation like this one. If it meant he could keep one or a hundred people from being forced into an arranged marriage. So long as his partners were equally as willing…

No one could know. Because if he went along with it, there was no drawing attention to the laws that allowed the Alpha Council to do this. If he went along with it, there would be no fighting for rights over whether or not the population needed a boost, no fighting to defend Steve Rogers from having to get married to a complete stranger. No one would ever know. He wrote the dates down on his calendar and burned the letter when he got home. He made dinner and didn't taste it as he tried to distract himself by watching television. Nothing of interest was one. He tried reading but found he couldn't concentrate on it either. So he grabbed his sketch book and started drawing. He didn't have an image in mind, but when he was done, he had drawn the Captain America uniform with marionette strings forcing it to dance. He slammed his book shut and went to bed.

Sharon was a lovely woman. Steve had seen her around S.H.I.E.L.D. before but he'd never officially met her. And it turned out that she had no interest in the Captain America exhibit, in fact, she hadn't even known it was going on. They looked at some of the other exhibits and talked about history and art and culture. Steve awkwardly asked her about whether she wanted to be married or not and she admitted that she was still undecided on the subject. She did want a partner but she wasn't sure if she wanted to be married and pregnant within a few years as she was working on her career. She had volunteered a few years back with the Omega Society in order to meet eligible bachelors on her terms –on days that she had off and at places that interested her. Overall, the date went far better than what Steve had been anticipating. Sharon even gave him her number in case he wanted to get in touch after. Or, maybe, in case he picked her. He agreed and she gave him a peck on the cheek before leaving.

It left Steve with a whole week to agonize over his second date. He shouldn't have spent quite so much time worrying about the date because it proved to be even less entertaining that he'd expected. From the start, he didn't like Gilmore. The guy had waved him over, snapped his fingers at the concession people and spent the entire competition critiquing the fighters. And they were professional fighters at that. Steve didn't even ask him about his interest in marriage or willingness to be here. Steve left in the middle of the competition after faking an emergency phone call from Sam and fleeing the scene. He'd been on a lot of bad dates on his own, but that? That was the worst date he'd _ever_ been on. And he wasn't even responsible for it. Gilmore hadn't paid him any attention, instead focusing on the martial arts. Unlike with Sharon, who while she had been interested in the exhibits, she always checked to make sure Steve was equally entertained by what was going on. He could only hope that the others were more like Sharon and less like Gilmore.

He started meeting with Sam for daily runs around the White House so he could spend less time stressing out about his upcoming date with Zoey. Sam was good at not pressing for information so he accepted that Steve was in fact going on dates, but he certainly didn't believe that was all that was going on. Being away from work for so long was turning out to be disconcerting. Steve didn't know what to do with all the free time. Mostly, he spent it worrying about his next date and wondering what he would have to do in order to get Sharon to marry him if it turned out that all the others were more like Gilmore. He read more books and caught up on some of the movies he'd missed while he was in Afghanistan. But generally he just started drawing.

Drawing like he hadn't done since he was a kid, a young teenager stuck waiting for the procedures to finally be over. He briefly thought about going to art school –that had been his plan as a boy, when he'd been afraid that the army would never take him. Bucky had loved it, used to go around calling Steve the best artist to ever come out of Brooklyn. Steve used to point out that he wasn't an artist yet and he hadn't managed to leave Brooklyn either in lieu of pointing out that he didn't think he'd ever be better than Fields or Merkin. Bucky wouldn't have known who they were or cared to know either. Aileen Fields was a beautiful sculptor and it wasn't exactly a fair comparison to make seeing as how Steve wasn't interested in sculpting. Richard Merkin on the other hand was a painter and an illustrator, determined to capture the imagery of a lifetime past. Steve wasn't sure where his art would take him but he didn't have the patience for painting. His sketches weren't even on the same level as either of those artists and honestly it'd been so long since he last drew anything, he was rusty. At least it gave him something to work on though, he supposed.

Zoey was a stunningly beautiful woman and frighteningly intelligent. Steve spent most of their time together tripping over his words and trying to contribute meaningful conversation. In her high-heels, she stood just a few subtle inches taller than him and everything about her was naturally elegant.

"I am passionate about my job, Steven," she said airily, stopping to gaze at a portrait. "Yes. As such, if you are against this pairing, I would understand. It is not an easy thing, to give up freedom to romance another."

"Yeah," Steve agreed cautiously. "I'm not against it, exactly."

"But they have you between a rock and a hard place," Zoey finished for him, turning to face him. "I chose this. It is difficult with work and long cases to find time to meet men. Most Alphas in the service have volunteered too, but despite how politely worded their letter was, I understand the same cannot be said for you."

Steve winced. "That's all true. But I'd really appreciate that no one finds out this isn't exactly my idea?"

"Of course," Zoey agreed serenely.

"Thank you."

"I suspect you don't know what they put in your application? You must have gotten a similar briefing on each of the Omegas they selected for you. Would you like to know what your package said?"

"I-I would appreciate that."

"It stated that you were appreciative of art and fine culture and an accomplished martial artist within your own line of expertise."

Steve sighed. That explained so much. "I wish I'd been involved in writing my own interests down."

"Inaccurate?"

"Mostly. I do like art and I like music –which I assume is what they meant by fine culture –but I don't really care for martial arts. I appreciate the invaluable skills they are and I appreciate the fine men and women who can utilize them. But it doesn't mean I want to sit down and watch a competition for fun."

Zoey chuckled. "Yes, I imagine it would be like being sent in to watch court trials. Far too much like work however interesting it might be."

"Exactly!" Steve said, relieved.

"Well, Steven, if you are interested in pursuing this with me, please feel free to contact me." She leaned over, pecking his cheek. "And good luck in your difficult choice ahead."

Zoey was certainly something different all right. Steve still felt a little floaty afterwards. He liked her though. Compared to Gilmore though, she was as perfect a date as Steve could have ever imagined. Although he felt a like she was always two steps ahead of him. She was the one who had organized and led the entire date. She cued in when he was feeling uncomfortable and soothed those feelings without him even realizing. It was great that she was so empathetic and understanding. Even if she was a little off-putting with her serene leadership. That trait of hers certainly wasn't a bad thing. And she was more interested in pursuing a relationship than Sharon seemed to be. He accepted her number gratefully and spent the rest of the week exchanging the odd text with her.

And in every free moment he had, he remembered he was going to be meeting James Barnes and spent pushing aside the anxiety. He didn't know what to expect. So he simply didn't think about it. Until April seventh rolled around and it was _the_ day.

"You alright man?" Sam asked, breathless after their run. "You didn't get in as many laps as you usually do."

"Got a date tonight," Steve answered. What else was he going to say? "Blind date, actually."

"Brave of you," Sam said, straightening. "This is what, the fourth in as many weeks?"

"Something like that, yeah," Steve hedged, stretching his arms above his head. "I've been a bit distracted."

"I can tell." Sam glanced at him. "You alright?"

"Just nervous," Steve lied. It would be fair to no one if he started treating James Barnes like a long lost friend. He didn't know what was so scary about meeting someone with the same first and last name.

"Well you've got my number. Call if you need anything."

"If something comes up, I will." It wasn't like he had anyone else he could call. And Sam already knew who he was –he'd recognized Steve when they first met.

Sam nodded and they hugged briefly before Sam was heading off to work. Steve missed working. He missed it a lot. He could remember being a kid, loving the endless summers when he could go outside and play. Or when he would stay inside at Bucky's and do nothing. Nothing at all. He couldn't help but wonder how he managed that. It had been almost twenty years since he'd had that kind of free time and he didn't really know what to do with himself. Steve didn't know for sure what the Alpha Council wanted him to do with his indefinite leave considering it was only taking a month to sort through he was going to marry, but he figured there was going to be a honeymoon period. Likely, a lengthy honeymoon period at that. And then they would have to let him go back to work. If they didn't, well, he would start by asking and see where that got him. If it didn't get him back at S.H.I.E.L.D. he would go to Nelson and Murdock and see if they could do anything for him without outing his arranged marriage. He sighed and started the long walk home.

Ten days from now he was going to be engaged if not married. He didn't know how to feel about that. He wished he could talk to Clint or Natasha or even Phil. But Phil was in the middle of Turkey and Clint and Natasha were undercover in Nepal. If Clint and Phil managed to forgive him for getting married without them, then Natasha certainly wouldn't. She would never believe it was a real marriage and there would be no hiding the truth from her. She would be furious if she ever thought he was doing this for her, even partially. And he wasn't. He was doing for a lot of people –for anyone who might potentially be forced into this situation. It would have been different if he'd volunteered, as Zoey had pointed out. Steve started running again, weaving down familiar streets as he headed for his apartment. He needed to make peace with the fact that he was giving up a small piece of his freedom in order to maintain freedom that others were afforded. And he knew, deep down, that no court would ever let him walk away with the super soldier serum his and his alone. They had expectations for him. And if he fought getting married and having a family that they would have no qualms about stating that he needed to go to a health clinic and donate his sperm for the benefit of science. And that –that left him feeling worse than he already did. Any children of his were _his_. He wanted to be part of their life. He wanted to be able to keep them safe from the government and being a sperm donor would not provide them that protection. He wasn't going to let any child of his grow up as a glorified lab rat. And if he wasn't there to protect them, he was certain that would be their fate.

Getting married wasn't the worst thing. He needed to remember that. One day he would make the world a different place. Where anyone who went through the kind of experiments he went through would be completely protected, allowed to learn about their missing childhood friends and visit their dying mothers before they had already died. In the future there wouldn't be Omegas being kidnapped en masse. But he needed to be working at S.H.I.E.L.D. in order to start making those changes. He was thirty-one but he didn't look a day over twenty-five. And sooner or later someone was going to figure it out. Someone was going to want his miracle cure. But they would find nothing except for Steve, Natasha and Bruce. And anyone who went looking for the research would find it had since disappeared. Dr. Erskine died shortly after the procedure was completed and he'd always intended to release the participants but without him, all of them had been kept for further experimentation. The kind of experimentation that was un-invasive, just checking over reflexes and weight gain, that kind of thing. Natasha got out first –either she escaped or Hydra broke her out and Bruce hit legal age sooner than the scientists' anticipated and he walked out those doors. S.H.I.E.L.D. was the only organization who helped him when he asked for it; they gave him what he wanted with no exception clauses. And they followed through on what he had asked for.

Steve ended up going through his closet four times before he decided on what to wear for dinner at the Blue Duck Tavern. It was just a restaurant or a pub; it was the National Gallery of Art and it wasn't the Smithsonian. It also wasn't a sweaty dojo. In the end Steve went for casual and hoped he wouldn't look out of place next to James. He settled on a nice button-up shirt that was a gentle grey –Natasha had once commented that he seemed more human when he was wearing it, so, hopefully that was a good sign –and well-fitted jeans. He huffed at his reflection in annoyance and brushed his fingers through his hair, attempting to put some order into his appearance. He had shaved after his shower so hopefully he would look passable. Acceptable. He'd spent just as long agonizing over what to wear when he met Sharon and Gilmore; less time when he went to meet with Zoey, half-way convinced that she was going to be another Gilmore. He wished he'd spent more time preparing for their date than he had. He grabbed his black coat without much thought and drove over to the Blue Duck Tavern for his seven o'clock date.

"Do you have a reservation?" asked the server politely, glancing up from her podium.

"Yeah, I think so," Steve said nervously. "Steve Rogers, or B –James Barnes?" What was wrong with him? Already messing up the guy's name with his missing best friend and he hadn't even met the guy?

"Ah yes!" she said brightly, smiling at him. "A table for two on the outdoor patio, right this way sir."

It was a pretty nice place but Steve was grateful to see that the outdoor seating was roomier than inside. The half-dozen other seats were already full but there was one table where just one person was sitting and his server seemed to be leading him right in that direction. His date certainly dressed well. For all that he was casual, wearing a jean jacket over a white top, he was more attractive than Steve had expected. His face lit up when he saw them approach and he rose to his feet smoothly. He couldn't help but notice the way James held himself, his left hand mostly hidden behind his body. It did nothing to conceal the glint of metal under his jacket sleeve.

"It's Steve, right?" he asked, offering his right hand.

"Yeah," he answered, shaking his hand. He couldn't help but notice that James' eyes were a lovely aquamarine color. "And you're James?"

His grin only grew wider. "I certainly hope so; otherwise _I'll_ be disappointed I didn't get to have dinner with the hottest guy in the room." He withdrew his hand.

Steve blushed. "Thanks," he said lamely, sitting down across from James. What was a good follow-up to that kind of compliment? 'You look good too' didn't have the right level of enthusiasm.

"You don't do this much, do you?" James inquired, grinning that lazy smirk. It was a good look on him –a very good look. It didn't make him smug, maybe a little cocky, but he wore it well.

"You found me out," Steve admitted, splaying his hands palm up.

"Lucky guess," he said kindly.

Steve chuckled in spite of himself. "I'm sure that's all it was," he drawled.

"Oh absolutely," he said, his eyes twinkling.

"Good evening, I'm Alice and I'll be your server tonight," chirped the young lady standing at the side of their table. "Is there anything I can get for you?"

"I'll have a coffee," James said.

"Same," Steve said, relieved he wouldn't have to pretend to care about pretentious wines.

Alice flashed them both a dazzling smile. "Perfect, I'll be right back with your menus." True to her word, in less than five minutes she had returned with their menus and their coffees.

Steve added a teaspoon and a bit of sugar with a small amount of cream to his coffee, watching James. He absently opened his menu and turned his focus to it as he lost count of how many spoonfuls of sugar his date had put into his coffee. He took a slow sip of his coffee, staring at the menu prices. They weren't exorbitant and considering the helpful slogan tacked onto every page, promising quality, local food he had to admit the prices were very fair. He was curious about what lavender honey was –honey from lavender, maybe –but did that change the taste? Surely, honey was just honey. But if lavender honey was specific to lavender, then he did wonder what flowers regular honey was created from. Since there were apparently people out there who categorized that sort of thing. Steve wasn't in the practice of eating out –he preferred to buy and cook at home when he could help it. Unlike Natasha and Tony who were both more exotic in taste as they had each dragged him out to different fancy restaurants before. It really didn't help that everything had a different name when you moved a state over. For instance, why would anyone roast bone marrow? Steve skimmed down the list, hoping that something would stand out to him. The braised beef rib sounded good but the steak, although pricier, was the better option.

"Ooh, oysters," James commented, winking in Steve's direction. "I think the salmon sounds good, personally."

"I think I'm going to try the steak," Steve said.

James hummed, flipping a page in his menu. "That does look good," he agreed. "I think I'm going to stick with the salmon." He shut his menu and set it to the side.

Steve did the same, taking another sip from his coffee. He glanced at James' cup and wondered how many spoons of sugar actually went into it. Before they had time to start talking, their server was back, taking their orders down. Steve kept his simple, ordering a salad for a starter and champion potato as his side. James ordered his smoked salmon with rice as a side and a fresh spring pea salad for his starter. Alice smiled at them both again and promised it wouldn't be too long of a wait on their salads before she left again.

"So I can trust that the food here's good?" Steve asked nervously, tentative. James glanced at him quizzically. "Your –you said that you were a connoisseur of all things delicious?" Had he gotten it wrong?

James smiled. "Yes, yes. It's great food here, from what I hear anyways."

"Inviting me out to eat when you haven't even tried it yourself, gutsy move for a first date," Steve teased.

"Darn," he drawled over-exaggeratedly as he leaned in on his elbows to peer at Steve in faux concern. "Don't tell me you'd rather have gone to an art museum or something than have an actual, like, normal date. I don't know if my ego could take it!" He leaned back, his hand over his heart.

Steve rolled his eyes. "Please, no, this is wonderful."

James chuckled, "How many museums have you been to?"

"Just the one and an art gallery but both were a bit ostentatious for a first date." Although according to Sharon, she had chosen that location because it was somewhere she was personally interested in. He wondered if the same was true of Zoey.

"Not so bad then," James said.

"Well they were both better dates than the one at the martial arts competition."

James' mouth fell open comically. "No. Tell me no one took you to that."

"Wish I could," Steve said with an easy shrug. This was probably the most relaxed he'd ever been on a date.

"That must have been boring."

"It was alright, until my date started critiquing the fighters' moves."

"He didn't!"

"He did," Steve lamented, "as soon as the first match started. Didn't shut up the whole way through. I ended up walking out halfway."

"I can imagine," James said sympathetically. "No wonder the art gallery and museum didn't seem so bad in comparison."

"I like the dinner date," Steve said shyly. "It feels normal."

James grinned, slow and easy. "Why do you think I picked it?"

"Here I thought it was just because you liked good food."

James chuckled. "Only a little."

James was a very attractive man, talented at flirting and very smooth. He didn't seem like the kind of person to sign up to meet Alphas –there was no way that someone like James had trouble finding dates. Steve felt out of his league but he also felt flattered. And he also –he really liked James so far. This was possibly the most thoughtful date he'd been on in the last month. He liked museums and art galleries, sure, but he would prefer an intimate dinner date over those any day. It gave him a chance to get to know his date. While he appreciated art and history, he was at a loss on what an appropriate comment would be to a blank white slate. Someone out there considered it art, but that wasn't Steve. He appreciated portraits, sketches and paintings; art where he could practically feel the artist's hard work and intentions seeping through. While there was plenty of that style at the National Gallery, it wasn't the type of art that Zoey had appreciated.

"So did you volunteer? For this," Steve specified, gesturing between them.

"Yeah," James said, sitting up straight. "Hard as it might be to believe, it's not all that easy to meet trust-worthy Alphas in my day-to-day life. At least you guys from the Alpha Council get screened and all." He paused, checking Steve out. "And getting married to someone who's got your looks is no hardship, trust me on that."

Steve flushed brightly. "You barely know me," he protested.

James shrugged. "I know you blush pretty easy," he said. "I know you're good looking and you seem pretty respectful. You haven't even stared at my arm or asked about it, and I know you know about it." As if to emphasize this, he brought his left hand up and took a slow drink of coffee. "You haven't tried to boss me around or anything, and sure, you're probably different in private. But who isn't? You just don't seem like the bad sort to me, Steve."

"I –thank you," he settled for saying. He wasn't sure how else to follow that statement up with. Maybe something about how it wouldn't be so bad to be married to someone like James either.

"What kind of things do you like to do for fun?"

"Oh, I like to sketch. Or go on a run through the city." He paused. "You?"

"I like to go out, dancing usually. Or just to try new things. But staying at home with a good book is nice too."

They spent the rest of the date talking about their favorite writers and their favorite books. Steve gave his phone number out first so that James could message him a list of his recommended reads for science-fiction. And while James was in the middle of texting all that, Steve paid for the dinner much to James' indignation.

"I invited you on this date, I'm the one who should be paying," James insisted.

"I had a great time," Steve said. "I wanted to pay."

James scoffed. "Still I –"

"You can pay next time," Steve said casually, glancing at James from the corner of his eye.

That shut James up fast. His eyes widened. "Oh?" he said, a slow smirk spreading across his lips. "Next time, huh?"

Steve opened the door for them. "That's the way it goes with first dates isn't it?" he asked, playing dumb for the sake of it. "If you have a really good time, you go on a second one?"

"Sounds about right," James said, clearly amused. "Where did you park?"

"Over here," he said, gesturing to the back parking lot.

James stepped in close to him, his hand settling lightly on Steve's shoulder. Steve looked back at him in surprise, distracted enough that he hadn't noticed James moving so close. He opened his mouth to say something –he wasn't sure what –when James brought his lips to Steve's. It was a chaste kiss, brief and over too soon, but it left him wanting more. James chuckled lowly, brushing a metallic thumb across Steve's cheekbone.

"I really enjoyed our date tonight, Steve," he murmured. "Hope I hear from you again."

He stepped back gradually and Steve ached to lean in and follow after him. But he didn't. At least he didn't think he did. James tipped his hand in a mock salute before shoving his hands into his coat pockets and walking off into the darkness. Steve watched him disappear until he couldn't see him anymore. He started his motorcycle, still distracted by the fantastic date he'd been on. He had figured it was just a dinner date but they ended up staying for dessert, splitting an apple pie between the two of them. And that was conversation about books, diverging into discussion about movies based on books before they were off on another tangent. It was probably the best date Steve had ever been on.

Unlike with Zoey, Steve exchanged more than the odd text with James. Most of their conversations were about the books Steve had started to read. Sometimes, the messages just contained a series of exclamation marks or question marks. Steve had almost forgotten about his last date, so consumed by finding out the end of the latest book he'd started on. He made it to the orchestra on time and spent his date in silence, listening to the classical musicians perform. Bonnie never one asked him anything, even during the intermission. He offered her some peanuts he'd bought earlier and she only gave him the cold shoulder. He ended up pulling out his phone.

 _I wish I'd gotten a second date with you instead_ , he wrote.

From James _: That bad?_

From Steve _: She won't talk to me._

From James _: That's some impressive willpower. I mean look at you._

Steve rolled his eyes. _Really, not everyone is attracted to me._

From James _: Anyone who isn't is a liar._

"Are you texting someone?" she huffed, offended. "On our _date?_ "

Steve glanced over at her. "I hadn't realized it was a date," he said flatly. "Considering that we hadn't spoken two words."

She glared at him. "Because it's a concert?" she demanded, spitting out the last two syllabls. "You don't talk during a concert."

"It's intermission," Steve disagreed politely. "I think we're allowed to talk during it."

But she just gave another huff and turned her attention back to the stage. He glanced at her, completely disinterested in her and her rudeness. _Your confidence in me is flattering._

From James _: Are you flirting with me during your date? Tut tut Rogers. Didn't know you had it in you._

He put his phone away when the intermission ended. When the concert was over, his date left without as much as a goodbye. Steve drove home and proceeded to regale James with the horror story of his latest date. He waited until the middle of next week before he asked the big question. He spent the time in between running laps with Sam and reading James' recommended books, texting James. Most of their conversations were inane but Steve didn't really mind. He kind of appreciated it, honestly. He knew who he wanted to go to the Alpha Council with on Friday but he was still anxious over what James' answer would be. On Wednesday he sent the message.

From Steve: _You free on Friday at 9am?_

From James: _You asking me out? I'll have you know I have a personal policy of not leaving bed until after ten._ As Steve was struggling to figure out what that meant he received another message. _But for you I'll make an exception_. He'd even included a winky face.

From Steve: _Alpha Council Quarters, 9am._

From James: _I'd be honored to come with you._


	3. Once Upon A December

Steve probably should have known how it was going to go when Chairwoman Krupin greeted him before he was even in the doors of the building, James at his side. They'd met in the parking lot beforehand and Steve had exchanged a nervous smile with him. The Chairwoman led them into a private office from the lobby.

"You didn't bring a witness with you?" she asked, sounding quite concerned. "We can of course provide one but I thought you and your partner would feel more comfortable having family or friends in attendance. Of course, no more than two guests each can be present."

"I didn't know it was expected of me," Steve said tightly.

"A witness for what exactly?" James asked, glancing around the office.

Chairwoman Krupin gave a sigh. "For your wedding?"

Steve choked on his surprise. "I thought I might have –I thought we might have an engagement period first? This is –my friends and family, they'll have questions."

She leaned back against the desk, tapping her long fingernails against the desk. "I believe we were perfectly clear with you, Captain. I'm sure you'll be able to come up with something to tell them. If you want we can provide an Elvis impersonator and two witnesses off the street –if that might help provide authenticity to your married in Vegas claim. I'm sure it wouldn't be the first time someone has lied about it."

"I'm sorry –Chairwoman, could Steve and I have a moment? To decide?"

Krupin glanced between the both of them. "You may. Try to keep it short, if you please, gentlemen." With that, she brushed past them and went into the lobby.

At this rate, not even Sam would believe his sudden marriage was genuine. Steve moved away from James, pacing the length of the desk. He should have been expecting this. He'd been hoping he'd get an engagement period to introduce James to what friends he had in the country. Even if they were only engaged for a month, if he could just introduce James, it would make everything that much smoother. He really didn't need Natasha breaking into his apartment and shooting James because she didn't believe him when he said he was married to Steve.

"So, it's a little faster than anticipated," James said. "That's not so bad."

"My friends can be a little difficult; I'd been hoping to introduce you before we were married."

"We could tell them we got married in Vegas or while we were drunk."

"I can't get drunk," Steve said without thinking. "And at least one of my friends would go so far as to check my credit card statement and bank records to verify if I was really in Las Vegas."

"Guess we've got our honeymoon destination all planned out then," James said, chuckling. "We can probably sign the wrong date on the certificate, I mean since they're so pushy on us getting hitched, I don't think they'd mind falsifying the information a bit. If your friend is nosey enough to dig through your credit information, that's something else, we'd have to cover up, right?"

"Yeah," Steve admitted tiredly. "And the witnesses couldn't be anyone we knew. How would we even convince them it's the wrong day?"

"Steve, are two random people off the street really going to remember what day they were dragged in to watch two guys get married?" he pointed out.

"Okay, okay, you're right." Steve grimaced, turning to face him. "I'm sorry I'm not usually so," he gestured vaguely.

"This just isn't what you had in mind?" James finished for him, leaning back against a bookshelf. "You're not the only one."

"You can still back out," Steve said urgently.

James shook his head. "Miss out on a guy like you? I'd have to be crazy to say no. But I gotta admit, I was hoping for some wedding bells and champagne."

Steve smiled apologetically at him. "I bet we can get some really good champagne in Las Vegas."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

It wasn't what either of them had planned on, but Steve didn't have a choice. His only choice was to ask James and James had, against all reason, chosen to stay. James slowly walked over to him, taking Steve's hand in his. He slowly brought Steve's hand up and placed a light kiss against his knuckles.

"We'll make a marriage out of us yet, fiancé," he said. "Technically, I could say we've been engaged since Wednesday."

"I didn't get down on my knee," Steve protested. "Or give you a ring."

"You're not the traditional type, it's okay." James grinned at him. "I kind of like it."

Steve rolled his eyes. That was the first thing he was going to do, as soon as he had time enough to do it, was buy wedding rings for them. Even if the Alpha Council was providing them rings, which he seriously doubted, he was definitely going to buy them proper wedding rings. As soon as possible. At least they weren't dressed too poorly –they weren't dressy enough for a wedding, but neither of them were underdressed either. James was wearing a grey blazer over a checkered shirt, with dressier blue jeans. As they talked, James casually flicked his collar up and folded it down, standing in front of the window to use it as a mirror. Steve had chosen a white dress shirt after a lengthy deliberation and a dark blue tie –and he was grateful for those choices now. On his way out the door he'd grabbed one of the jackets he seldom wore, a plain coat that could pass for business casual if he tried really hard.

"Well, we look more like we belong in Las Vegas than we do here," James said, turning to grin at him. "We can do pictures and all that when we get there." Steve nodded, exhaling nervously. James leaned over, bumping their shoulders together. "Well let's get this over with, shall we?"

They walked out and met Chairwoman Krupin in the lobby. Her wicked smile seemed to be the right indication that she was going to meet their agreements. Which was kind of insane considering she was a legal entity within the United States and she was willing to falsify their marriage license. Just because she wanted to make sure Steve's descendants were of benefit to the American government. Honestly, considering his genes before the serum, it was a surprise that he was being roped into this. It might be just as likely that he would conceive sickly children. And he didn't want that. His children deserved to have their own lives and without Dr. Erskine and his science his children might not even get that much if they were born as sickly as Steve had been. It wasn't something that he could worry about right now though.

"Just do me a favor and get it legally done again in Nevada?" she asked as she led them to a ballroom.

There were no decorations, nothing to indicate it was a wedding except for the official who was standing at a podium at the front of the room. Krupin ushered them into the room before waving outside and two confused strangers stumbled into the room. When they caught sight of Steve and James though, they both lit up and took their places before the officiator. So at least they knew what they were being asked of. Steve exchanged a nervous glance with James and James linked his arm through Steve's, guiding him to the front of the room. It was over in a matter of minutes, a simple exchanging of words and a brief chaste kiss. No rings were provided. Apparently they were really only traditional and as such not part of the expense that the Alpha Council was willing to go through in order to secure Captain America's heritage. James didn't seem to mind, he certainly didn't comment on it as he instead lingered behind Steve while he ordered the tickets to Las Vegas, trying to think of a reason he might actually want to go there. That would be the first question anyone asked him when he told them that he had gone to Las Vegas and ended up getting hitched to a complete stranger.

As he was connecting to the airline and booking one seat for him –James had since pulled out his phone and was presumably doing the same –a magazine headline scrolled past. _Tony Stark spotted in Las Vegas_. Which was either a very, very bad sign or a good one. Either he would reveal the whole scandal if he caught so much as a whiff of something suspicious going on – _like being married to a stranger_ –or he would be the only one who could actually make the story convincing. So Steve sighed softly and once his ticket was purchased, he pulled up his messenger app.

 **From Steve:** _So I was thinking about heading to Las Vegas to sight-see._

 **From Tony** _ **:**_ _Cap can text?! Consider me surprised. Are you looking for strippers, I have some quality recommendations trust me._

And with a few more texts, he had a map planned of some attractions to see and a list of places with alcohol. He knew that after the serum he wouldn't be able to get drunk, but he'd never truly tested his limits. Las Vegas seemed like the kind of place where he could do that.

"Where should we meet?" James asked, crowding in closer to Steve to peer at his list of locations.

"How about here?" Steve asked, indicating the Mirage where he'd booked his stay. "We could accidentally meet at the bar." He paused, making a face at the thought of it. "I'm going to be spending a lot of time at the bar, trying to get drunk."

"You don't know if you can?" James asked, lips curling up into a wry smirk. "That'll be good to see."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Just try to be a little more sober than me? One of us has to get this done."

"Yeah, yeah," he teased. "No promises. Here, I'll book a room at the same place."

That might be _too_ coincidental for Natasha, honestly. He nearly groaned –it was too much work planning four steps ahead of what he was doing and trying to think about what Natasha would be looking for. What would make her suspicious? What would make Tony suspicious? Clint wasn't much of a concern in that area, honestly, compared to the both of them. Clint could be distracted more easily or at least he would listen to the situation rationally before reacting. Tony would publicize it likely in an effort to fight back against the Alpha Council expecting that was what Steve wanted him to do and Natasha would just attack James, likely thinking him an assassin trying to kill Steve. So there would be some serious repercussions if this went even a hair wrong.

"No, choose somewhere else. Somewhere close but cheaper, maybe?"

"Then why would I meet you at _your_ hotel bar?" James demanded irritably, already pulling up some listings on Google.

"Maybe you had a date that didn't show up?" Steve supplied apologetically.

James nodded slowly, but Steve had the feeling that James was mostly just agreeing at this point because he wanted to get it over and done with. They spent another half an hour making sure all the details were in place before they split up and went back to their respective homes to pack for the trip that would lead them to Las Vegas. In less than an hour Steve was packed and ready and waiting at the airport. To James' credit, he was good enough that Steve didn't even notice him until they were boarding. But as they'd discussed they feigned to not know each other and avoided interacting as Steve went to sit in the first class and James stayed behind. In five hours they arrived at McCarran International Airport. Their whole first night was planned –or at least Steve's was –James had more freedom. He went to the Mirage and checked in with his luggage all intact. He made sure to take a moment to appreciate the view before he headed to the jewelry store he'd seen earlier. Once the rings were purchased and safely tucked away –never had he been quite so glad to have a decently sized nest egg stored away- he went out to dinner at one of the restaurants Tony had recommended.

It was gratefully less ostentatious than most of Tony's tastes were. A bottle of wine down with dinner and Steve left for another recommended stop on the way before returning back to his hotel and heading to the bar. He had another two and a half hours before James was due to show up. By the time Steve was even feeling buzzed, it had been nearly an hour and he was really starting to hate the burn of alcohol. He kept away from the mixed drinks and just asked the bartender for the strong stuff. But that kind of behavior on its own would have been worrying to Natasha if she decided she needed to examine every inch of his life. Maybe she wouldn't but on the off chance that she decided to, he wanted to prevent her from deciding his new-husband needed to be murdered. So he flirted and he flirted poorly and scared off half the people at the bar because he was so awkward. The bartender grimaced every time a new customer sat down and Steve approached. But he kept himself polite and he tried. That was probably the worst of it, was that he _was_ trying. The alcohol almost tasted like pity that burned on the way down but it kind of was. After about two hours, the bartender had taken sympathy on Steve and his lack of flirting and switched out his drink for something more expensive and that was definitely a lot stronger. By the time James showed up, Steve was beyond buzzed and heading into drunken territory –a feeling he was wholly unfamiliar with.

He wished he could say he remembered more of the night. But as James sat down next to him and started flirting back, things began to get hazier and hazier. Steve could remember that they flirted and it was probably stupid because he was well beyond buzzed, but James didn't seem to mind. He could remember James smiling softly, his lips pressing against Steve's and the next thing he remembered, he and James were holding each other up as they staggered towards the Elvis Chapel. And they still had their glasses of alcohol in hand as they made their way into the chapel and were lucky enough to get scheduled in. Then there were bright flashes of light and Steve fumbling in his pocket to hand the rings over –he couldn't even remember James' reaction which was disappointing –more camera flashes, a messy kiss and someone with a spot-on Elvis voice officiating their second wedding. It felt a lot more genuine than the one that morning and Steve couldn't even remember what he said to James or vice versa. He didn't even know if they had said anything to each other. Certainly not drunken declarations of love, at least he hoped he hadn't. It would be terribly unfortunate if he spent his first drunken night confessing his love to strangers' when he hadn't even managed to find the courage to say that he loved someone he was in a relationship with. Then again, that most required having a longstanding committed relationship with someone. All of which were things Steve was shamefully unfamiliar with. But James seemed to be determined to make up for all of that as they stumbled away from the Elvis Chapel delightedly married once again and back to someone's hotel.

Steve woke up feeling overly hot and like his mouth was full of stale cotton balls. Beside him, equally naked, was James sprawled onto his stomach, arms buried underneath his pillow as he slept deeply. Steve went to sit up and realized the extra heat radiating the bed was because at some point, James had slung his arm across Steve's chest. Steve's naked chest. Steve blinked in alarm and patiently extricated himself from James' arm as he slipped out of bed. Even if they had sex last night, if James had done anything, the serum would have wiped the evidence by way of muscle aches or pain away. Steve –really hoped they hadn't consummated their marriage under such miserable context. He, for one, wanted to be able to remember what his first time with another man was like. He wanted to remember what his first time with his husband was like. Maybe this was just a bad sign, forewarning him away from this decision. Although honestly it was far too late for that. He'd married the same man twice in one day.

"Mm," James groaned, rolling onto his side to blink blearily at Steve. "Stop it," he said, letting his eyelids flutter close once again.

"Stop what?" Steve asked, trying to locate his underwear or at least a pair of sweatpants to cover up with.

"Overthinking. We didn't do it," James yawned, stretching out. His abs rippled with his movements distractingly and the blankets had fallen down enough that Steve could see the coarse trail of hair leading –

"We didn't?"

"Mm not for lack of trying on your part," James murmured sleepily. "You were _very_ hard to resist, Steve."

"I –thank you."

James smiled softly. "What else is your husband good for?" He pulled the thick duvet off his body, revealing his boxer-clad lower half. He grinned at Steve lazily. "I didn't expect to get married today. Or, yesterday?"

Steve tore his eyes away guiltily. "I –I think I'm going to take a shower."

He walked into the bathroom quickly, only just remembering he was naked as he shut the door behind him. He wasn't going to go back out there to try and find clothes. Definitely not. He was married. Officially. Legally. _Bindingly_ married to James Barnes. And he couldn't even remember most of the night. He glanced down at his hand and smiled a little sadly at the gold wedding band glinting there. Yeah, he was married alright. What did one do after they'd just gotten married?

Steve decided to shower. As he showered, he thought about the childhood friend he hadn't seen in eighteen years. He couldn't remember Bucky's face anymore. Hadn't, in fact, been able to recall Bucky's face since he was eighteen years old. Age changed people. He wondered what Bucky would look like now. Back then he had short, curly hair that was always in his way and he made sure to gel it into submission. He wondered if maybe he'd walked past Bucky on a street or a dozen and never known it was him. There was nothing about Steve Rogers the twelve year old boy that remained in him now. Well maybe his obstinacy and pride. But physically? He was nothing like the skinny, asthmatic that walked into Project Rebirth. Bucky had eighteen years gone, spent in what were undoubtedly traumatic situations that would scar and change a person. And Steve couldn't even remember the last time he'd looked at a picture of Bucky's face –it was too painful. He wanted to, he wanted to a lot. What if because he hadn't, he'd missed out on finding Bucky and saving him? But even if he did look at that picture –it was eighteen years too young. And sure he could probably find someone to do a composite sketch, work out what he might look like if he was aged. As he knew so acutely, no sketch would ever reveal the scars hidden beneath. So he did his part in other ways. For the most part, he dedicated himself to destroying Hydra.

Despite the fact that Steve had made zero plans to meet up with Tony, when he opens the door for room service, he finds himself standing face-to-face with the billionaire. It was probably the most naked Steve had ever been around him despite their period of engagement and it was definitely as uncomfortable as he'd worried it would be. Back when it seemed likely that his engagement with Stark was going to be lasting and that they would have to consummate it. He impulsively grabbed onto his robe, like he was afraid it would blow open in the face of Tony Stark. Which was just ridiculous. It wasn't something he needed to be worried about and it was his fault for deciding to have a lazy morning –which was mostly James' suggestion. He could feel the blush burning up his cheeks already.

"Hey Cap," Tony said slowly, holding what was undoubtedly his and James' breakfast tray in his hands. "You plan on feeding an army or something?"

"It's –it's not a good time right now, Tony," Steve said flustered. James was currently in the shower but he would be out shortly. He reached to take the tray but he should have known that Tony would just dance away with it like a schoolyard bully. It was a game to Tony.

Then, Tony's eyes widened and he peered around Steve excitedly. "Do you have a date, Rogers?"

"N-no," Steve lied, trying to take the tray from Tony before he could spill it.

But Tony was good because he shoved the plate at Steve and while Steve was adjusting his balance to keep the food from spilling, Tony slipped in past him. He didn't have any spy skills but he was mostly harmless. There was no point in wasting good food in order to prevent Tony from invading the hotel room. Either way, Stark was going to meet James sooner or later. Steve had just been planning on having more time again. Time to get to know his husband, time to relax and just figure everything out. But maybe he needed to start strategizing for everything going wrong as soon as they possibly could at this rate.

"Who's in the shower?" Tony asked gleefully.

"Could we do this later?" Steve asked, setting the tray down on the table. "Like in public, where all parties are fully dressed and we can just talk?"

"Is it your new mystery woman?" Tony asked excitedly. "Did you run away to Las Vegas to get hitched?"

"Yes," Steve deadpanned. "You caught me out."

Tony peered at him suspiciously. "If you were really eloping, you would've said something sooner," he theorized. "One of your spy buddies would've outted you."

"They're spies," Steve countered. "You won't hear anything from them that they don't want you to hear." _And they're out of the country at the moment_ , he thought. It was the only thing making this transition possible at all.

Tony frowned, glancing around the room again before he let his gaze linger on Steve. "I don't think I've ever seen you this naked, Cap."

Steve flushed. "Get out." _Please._

Tony grinned. "Aw, you shy Cap?"

"Stark," Steve said exasperatedly, holding a hand up in an effort to silence him. It was automatic. It never worked so he didn't know why he still bothered. "Not now."

"Do I see a nipple?" Tony sang, waggling his eyebrows. "I think I see a nipple."

Steve grasped his robe impulsively, bunching the fabric together protectively as he blushed. "You couldn't have possible seen –"

Tony cackled. "You should see your face, Rogers!" he crowed. "Show up at the Pyramid place," he added, pointing at him. He frowned, considering, "it's like a half hour from here. Great food. You'll love it. Tonight at six or I'll come in guns blazing."

"You don't even know how to shoot a gun," Steve pointed out just to be an asshole.

"Iron blazing, then," Tony corrected with a roll of his eyes. "Be there or I'll embarrass you and your lady friend." He walked towards the door. "I mean it."

"Yeah, yeah, the Pyramid place," Steve repeated. "Six o'clock. See you there," he barely waited for Tony to step into the hallway before he was shutting the door on him with a relieved sigh. No matter in what capacity, it seemed like dealing with Tony had to be the most energy sapping task in the world. He didn't envy Coulson or Pepper for their ability to manage him –and he certainly didn't envy Bruce his ability to tolerate the man.

"Did I hear voices?" James asked, stepping out from the bathroom, towel drying his hair. He was clad in nothing but a pair of boxers, leaning against the doorway casually.

Steve coughed to clear his suddenly dry throat. It was a very good look on James. "Just a friend. He wanted to make dinner plans."

James shrugged easily. "Cool. Where at?"

"The Luxor Hotel," Steve answered.

James blinked. "Can we –can _you_ afford that?"

Steve bit back a laugh. "Not every day, no. But Tony Stark can."

"Tony Stark?" James repeated disbelievingly. "Like, _the_ Tony Stark?"

"We met a few years back," Steve said vaguely, grateful that the old guilt didn't plague him anymore.

After everything in Afghanistan, he used to feel so guilty about what he'd inadvertently done to Tony that even thinking about the man made him squirm uncomfortably. Because Tony Stark rescued himself ingeniously while everyone else in the world attributed it to Captain Steve Rogers. Attempting to make up for having stolen Tony's glory, Steve had gone to offer his help and ended up agreeing to the engagement Obadiah had proposed only because he knew it would help Tony out. Nearly three years ago, after Obadiah Stane's "unfortunate" death, Tony came into his power and positively burned with rage. He had taken the papers promising them to be wed and lit them on fire in front of a news reporter. As an Omega, Tony's life was full of moments of stolen glory. Obadiah claimed all of Stark's inventions for himself. And it wasn't until Coulson came around to talk some sense into Tony that he rebuilt his suit of armor and started destroying the Ten Rings wherever they popped up. This, naturally, led to his big reveal as being Iron Man when a reporter he was sleeping with stumbled upon the armor. No doubt, all intentional courtesy of Tony.

"We're gonna need more suits aren't we?" James asked, staring at where their wedding tuxes lay wrinkled on the floor. He let the towel drop from his hand.

"Maybe just one more set," Steve agreed, regretting he hadn't thought ahead to bring an extra suit with him.

"Hey if you know Iron Man does that mean you know the rest of the Avengers?" James asked, bending down to pick up his towel.

Steve froze, feeling a bit like a deer in the headlights. The other Avengers' identities were all secret. For good reason. Tony Stark was the only one who everyone knew. And Thor, obviously, but seeing as Thor wasn't from Earth that mitigated nearly all of his concerns while he was here. And there was no way Steve would ever compromise their identities. But the thing was. The thing was; he was married. And despite all of his S.H.I.E.L.D. confidentiality clauses, introducing his husband to his teammate was already pushing it a little far. Even having a husband under these circumstances was going to be pushing his legal agreements strenuously. He had a year off –did they still apply if he was on forced vacation?

"No," Steve said slowly. "I wish I had," he added as an afterthought. That was how most New Yorkers felt about the Avengers, wasn't it?

"Who's your favorite of them?" James asked excitedly. "I like the archer the best."

"I have a certain weakness for," Steve stuttered slowly, "for the Black Widow," he said at last.

"She is one good fighter," James agreed, throwing his towel back into the bathroom. "So is _Tony Stark_ one of these friends I should be worried about?"

"No," Steve said. "Definitely not."

James nodded, gliding over to Steve slowly. "Did I hear him talk about your nipples?" he asked, blinking his very blue eyes up at Steve as he came to a stop in front of him.

"You –heard that?" he asked, strangled, his hand still clasped around his robe.

James chuckled, low and kind of dirty. "Couldn't've missed it for the world," he purred, setting his hands over Steve's. "You should let me see, some. Fair's fair. I'm standing around shirtless and here you are bundled up like a nun."

"I'm naked under this," Steve protested, blushing.

James rolled his eyes as he stepped all the way into Steve's space, gently prying his hands away. "You know, I'm naked too under my underwear," he drawled, spreading the robe slowly as he kept his eyes on Steve. "And if you really want me to stop I can." He paused, glancing down for the barest moment as he dragged the tip of his finger along Steve's collarbone. "You were very hard to resist last night," he added conspiratorially. "You did such a sexy strip dance and everything."

"I did?" Steve asked, breathless in mortification. He had two left feet and no sense of rhythm; he couldn't begin to fathom how awful it must have been.

"Mm," James hummed in confirmation, sliding his hands down Steve's torso, opening his robe a little wider.

"So y-you've already seen me shirtless," Steve stuttered, doing nothing to stop James' wandering hands as he spread the robe open enough to leave Steve shirtless.

"It was dark," he protested playfully. "And you're very beautiful."

He was thirty years old, in no way should he blush quite so easily but he'd always been an easy blusher. And it was like James just knew exactly what to say. "You're pretty easy on the eyes yourself," he murmured, slowly setting his hand on James' chest. It wasn't that he didn't want to touch James; it was just that he felt like he was invading the other man's personal space.

James clearly didn't have the same feeling though, as he slid his hand across Steve's pectorals appreciatively. James tilted his head and brought their lips together in a searing kiss that left Steve breathless. James grinned at him, his hand sliding down Steve's abs, sending waves of arousal through Steve's body even as James dragged his fingers over the fine hairs leading downwards.

"This is a bit more than-than seeing me shirtless," Steve murmured breathlessly.

James smiled up at him, "I don't like it when other men talk about your nipples like that," he teased, his hand inching down slowly. Torturously slow. "Besides, it's our wedding night. Now we're both sober and all."

"So we should celebrate?"

"We are married," James pointed out, wrapping his hand around him loosely. "I would say unless you don't… feel 'up' to it, but I can tell that isn't an issue."

"You say the most romantic things," Steve muttered, silencing James with a biting kiss.

James kissed him back eagerly, pressing their bodies together as he ran his thumb along the head of his dick. Steve shuddered, his lips parting as James eagerly licked into his mouth. He dragged his thumb back down his shaft and Steve shifted, feeling the hard outline of James pressed against his thigh. Steve carefully rocked his hips into James' movement, revelling in the sharp inhale he drew out of the other man as he moved. Steve reached around, settling his hand on James' hip, dipping his fingers under the waistband. James groaned softly as he rocked his hips against Steve's. Steve gasped, wrapping his hand around James' member clumsily. He was used to doing this to himself; he'd never done it with another man before. Not for lack of wanting either, but simply because he'd never had the opportunity. Or, never taken the opportunity. Steve kissed James then, carefully stroking him. He listened for the way James' breath hitched, how he pushed against Steve more insistently whenever Steve did something right. It took a shamefully short time before Steve was spilling over his hand, and with a few quick strokes, James followed after him.

James chuckled huskily. "Easy there, babe."

Steve tucked his face against James' neck, embarrassed and overwhelmed. He peppered a few sparse kisses along his neck. James set his metal arm around his back and Steve shivered, pressing closer.

"That wasn't your first time, was it?"

"God no," Steve mumbled. "I wish this was even comparable."

"That bad?" James asked, his metal fingers trailing up Steve's spine.

"I mostly try to pretend it didn't happen."

"I'll tell you about mine if you tell me about yours," he offered.

Steve muffled a groan, reluctantly pulling away. "I was maybe eighteen, graduating from military school and I had a date for prom." He sat down on the bed, tugging his robe closed again and tying it shut. James settled down beside him, sprawling out. "I think it was mostly her plan. She had everything ready." Steve fidgeted nervously.

"It can't be that bad," James said, watching him.

"Oh it was awful. I didn't know what she was planning until it was happening –she was being secretive and led me from the dance floor to her hotel room and then she was undressing –and it was a surprise."

"Not the good kind?"

Steve made a face, lying back down onto the bed. "Not the good kind," he agreed. "She was beautiful and everything but we weren't dating. I thought we were just dance partners." And that had been bad enough; he spent half the night avoiding dancing until a slow song played. At which point after what had to have been an awful date for her, she led him back to her hotel room. "She had this very romantic set up. Rose petals and candles…"

James cracked a grin. "Tell me –tell me it didn't –"

Steve covered his face with his arm in embarrassment. "The petals caught fire. We were, ah, in the midst and the firemen came and can I please stop now?"

James must have attempted to muffle his laugh but Steve could feel the way the bed vibrated with it. "That is awful," he agreed. "I'm sorry."

"Tell me yours," Steve pleaded.

"I was a little drunk, mostly buzzed, started making out with this guy. We fumbled around at first," James said wistfully. "I don't even remember his name now. He had nice arms though. And then we just went all the way. It was nice. He was a good guy."

"Nowhere near as bad as mine," Steve admitted, uncovering his eyes.

"So have you ever done it with a guy before?"

"No."

"So I can trust that by what we did earlier you're totally fine with guys?"

"Yes," Steve chuckled, blushing. "I'm bisexual, not homophobic or closeted."

"I'm relieved," James purred, leaning over to kiss him dirty and messy.

Within a few minutes James had straddled his lap and was languidly running his hands across Steve's chest while they exchanged hot kisses. Steve wasn't sure if he'd ever been in a relationship quite like this one. Sure, he'd had relationships but none of them ever lasted to long term as hard as he tried to make them work. His longest relationship might have been about four years or a little over it back when he'd been dating Jess Collins. She was in the Marines, they met before he left on tour and they broke up after he finished his second tour. They saw each other eight times from when he left and when they broke up. It wasn't exactly a relationship considering they spent more time apart than together. The times they had available to connect had certainly been special but they were nothing compared to James.

James pulled back for breath and Steve's stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly, reminding him that he hadn't eaten since sometime yesterday and that Tony had delivered breakfast to them. James chuckled softly, swiping his tongue across his lips before he moved off Steve.

"Stay there," he said lowly, grabbing the tray and carrying it back to bed for them.

Like James had suggested, they stayed in bed until it was late afternoon, getting acquainted with one another. Resisting James was proving to be very difficult, not that he really wanted to resist him all that much but he did want to get to know his husband a little bit first. They started off small, very small really.

"Favorite color, really?" James chuckled. "Blue," he said, propping his head up on his hand. "Like your eyes."

Steve snorted, rolling his eyes. "Wow, that's quite the line you've got there."

"S'true though," he said, shrugging. "Ain't my fault your eyes are that shade of blue."

Steve huffed, mostly out of embarrassment. "Green is my favorite."

They spent the hours exchanging simple questions like that. But as late afternoon rolled around, they reluctantly got cleaned up and dressed before heading out to a tux store and buying the best they could get with such time restraints. James smirked at him from across the room, wearing a pale gray suit jacket over a white dress shirt with a black bowtie. He looked utterly fantastic in it. Steve meanwhile was dressed in a navy suit with a crisp black tie. They were nothing compared to the kind of suits Tony would wear, but they were better than the wrinkled wedding suits they had back at the hotel. From there, they headed to the Luxor Hotel and by the time they arrived, Tony Stark was already waiting for them.

Tony was seated at what had to be the largest table possible for the fewest number of people, tucked away behind a garden wall and a partition screen. The server led them to Tony's table and James plastered on a charming, polite smile. Steve had given him as much of a speech as he could to hopefully prepare him for what this meal was going to be like. But there was no speech that could truly portray Tony as the person he was so it was no surprise when James was overwhelmed.

"Boyfriend, Rogers, wow I don't know what I was expecting but it wasn't that."

"Husband, actually," James corrected, flashing his ring as he took the seat next to Steve.

Tony's eyebrows jumped in surprise. "No way," he said with a laugh in his voice. "You're pulling my leg."

"Since last night, actually," Steve said, ducking his head like he was embarrassed. "We uh, got drunk."

"How much did you have to drink?" Tony demanded incredulously, leaning forward interestedly as he looked between the two of them.

"Turns out after –" right, James didn't know and he wasn't sure if he had clearance to talk about it. Damn confidentiality agreements. "–everything that if I drink every time someone turns me down, it only takes about three hours or something. And I don't even know what the bartender gave me."

"I didn't know you'd been drinking that long," James commented. "I guess that explains why you seemed so much smoother last night."

"Explains how you picked this one, that's for sure," Tony muttered. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Tony Stark." He didn't hold his hand out, instead took a drink of his water as he watched the two of them.

Under the table, James' left hand found Steve's. "I'm James Barnes. Pleasure to meet you."

"So how did you end up getting married to someone as stiff as Steve over here?" Tony asked.

"Well I was drunk, apparently he was drunk, I don't even know who proposed to who but we were somehow at the Elvis Chapel. Next thing I know, I'm back at Steve's hotel and he's waking up and we've got rings on our fingers and a wedding certificate."

"I thought what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas?" Steve quipped, taking a drink of water.

Tony stared at them. "And you're just going to –remain married?"

"That is the plan," James said. "Why? Is my new husband a murderer or something? Should I be scared?"

Tony cut his gaze straight across to Steve. Steve wasn't sure he'd ever seen that expression on Tony's face before. "Uh huh. Something like that."

"It's not like I was in a relationship or something," Steve said. "There's no reason _not_ to try."

"Do you know anything about the guy?" Tony demanded.

"I –"

"What's he doing for a living? What're his credit scores? Does he know who you are? Does he know anything about you or are you just too lonely to realize that he might be using you?"

Steve bristled, releasing his glass before he could shatter it accidentally.

"For your information, I'm not using him. My credit scores are perfectly fine. I'm currently unemployed because of _this_ ," at that he gestured his left hand at Tony rudely, "and I don't think you have any right. It's our marriage, not yours."

"This behavior isn't normal for him," Tony argued. "I have every right to be worried about your plans."

"Plans?" James demanded, arching an eyebrow. "My only plans were to suffer through this meal and then get back to the hotel and show Steve how to relax a little. Considering he's _my_ husband and all. You can shove your opinions."

Tony snorted. "You talk about him like you know everything. You met him last night –you don't know what he's been through."

"Stop," Steve growled, glaring at Tony. "It doesn't matter."

Tony scoffed. "Oh, it matters Rogers. Isn't that how you really ended up in this position?"

No one would ever say Tony Stark was dumb. Sometimes, his intelligence could even be applied to people. Most of the time he got them wrong, but sometimes he could find a person's every vulnerability and hit them all in one attempt. And Steve didn't want to be around when Tony flipped his switches, chased out the insecurity only Tony knew was there. It wasn't like he'd shown them to Tony or advertised but part of cleaning up after Obadiah's mess had left him an open target. Tony had taken every shot he could. Steve tried not to blame him and with the Battle of New York, he'd managed to forgive him most of them. He wasn't going to sit through another round of being target practice for Tony Stark. Steve got to his feet and was relieved when James did the same. They left together. And Tony must have realized that it wasn't going to end well for him if he did follow because he stayed behind. As they waited for a cab, James grabbed his hand and put his arm around Steve's waist. He didn't say anything or even ask about the encounter at the restaurant back there for which Steve didn't have the words to thank him for it.

Because it wasn't like… this wasn't like it had been with Tony. That had been stupid of him and Coulson had called him on it. He'd been sacrificing his own happiness, knowing that he would never be happy with Tony in order to get Tony out of a bad situation. One that Tony had been more than prepared to get out of on his own. Steve had been single and it was something he felt like he owed Tony. But underneath lay his great secret, the one Tony had discovered accidentally when he was off crashing race cars in Monaco. Underneath everything, was the fact that Steve was lonely. And afraid that he would spend the rest of his life alone. He would always regret his engagement to Tony because neither of them could have made the other happy and it was almost a slap to Tony's face that he'd even tried. Steve thought he'd owed the other man that. He hadn't accepted to get married to James because he was lonely and afraid though. He just –he hadn't. That wasn't a thought going through his head.

James helped him into the taxi, not that he needed it, and pressed close to him so their thighs and shoulders were pressed tight to each other. "I don't know what I was expecting," he admitted. "But it wasn't that, I don't think."

"You did good," Steve mumbled, smiling weakly. But if Tony hadn't even believed their story, that didn't bode well for whomever he ran into next. James had been flawless though. He reached over, setting his hand over top of James' slowly. "Thanks for that, back there."

James grinned, bright and warm. "My pleasure," he said, pecking Steve lightly.


	4. Stitches

"Dinner was a great idea," Steve murmured, lightly kissing James' cheek. "Thank you."

"Well," James drawled, rolling his eyes good-naturedly, "it would have been a shame to not try and see if our suits could survive dinner. And look at that! They survived!" He twirled dramatically and Steve took the chance to appreciate James' body.

"Not a single stain," Steve agreed, feeling his pulse quicken as James gave him a slow once over.

"And we've been married for over twenty-four hours without a single fight, I think that's cause for celebration," James purred, stepping close as he undid Steve's tie. "Don't you?"

Steve laughed nervously as James pulled his tie free. "I think there are better things to celebrate," he said gently. "Like maybe not being drunk now that we're alone in our room?"

"We weren't drunk this morning," James pointed out, undoing the first button of Steve's shirt. "But I could definitely get behind celebrating that. Celebrating our marriage."

"Yeah, we never got the chance to do that…" Steve shivered as James' fingers ghosted across the exposed strip of his chest.

"You did give it a try last night," James commented, as he undid the last button. He hummed, pleased, as he set his palms on Steve's waist. "I have to say, as wonderful as the strip tease was, I like being able to take my time."

Steve couldn't help the embarrassed bubble of laughter that slipped past him. "I can't imagine how terrible it was."

James chuckled, dragging his hands along Steve's sides. "I can't wait to taste you," he murmured, sliding his hands back down to the front of Steve's pants.

Steve couldn't even formulate a response for that. He was pretty sure he spluttered incoherently though, given the way James chuckled before pulling him in for a kiss. Steve was distracted by the way James' fingers were deftly undoing his belt and tugging it feel from the loops before tossing it aside. Steve opened his mouth to say –what he wasn't sure, as James' tongue took the opportunity to make him lose track of every thought in his head. Steve pressed in closer to him, rucking James' shirt up until his hands were on warm skin and he felt his way up until he reached a nipple. He felt James gasp more than he heard it, and within seconds James was working his pants down. Steve stepped back from him, grinning at the adorable pout James directed at him.

"It's distracting," Steve said, tossing his dress shirt aside as he moved back in front of James. "And for that matter, so is this," and he kissed James open mouthed and filthy as his fingers set to undoing James' shirt.

Within seconds, they were practically glued together and Steve could feel the hard outline of James pressed against his thigh. They stumbled back towards the bed, and Steve wasn't even sure who had started moving that direction first. He couldn't concentrate. James was everything. They fell onto the bed with breathless chuckles before they started kissing again, slow and unhurried. Time seemed to lose all meaning. Steve was hyperaware of his own erection tenting his pants and the way that James' fingers were stroking across the fine hairs just below his navel. Steve fumbled at his own belt, tossing the restricting leather away before tugging James closer, appreciating the firm muscle under his touch. James groaned softly, undoing Steve's pants easily. Steve stretches his leg out, pressing his thigh more firmly against James' erection; appreciating the low moan he dragged out of James.

"'M not gonna last long if you keep that up, capt'n," he husked, pushing Steve's pants and underwear down.

"How'd you –?" Steve couldn't remember ever mentioning his army service let alone his rank.

"Your friend," James answered, watching him amused. "He kept calling you Cap. Not that hard to figure out." He paused. "You mind?"

"No," Steve replied, voice hoarse with want. "Don't mind it a bit."

James grinned. "Good."

And with that, James was moving to kneel between Steve's spread legs. Steve swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, as he watched James wrap his mouth around him. The scene in front of him was nearly as amazing as the hot heat of James' mouth. James shifted, swallowing him down and taking every coherent thought with him.

"You sure are something," James said, panting as he lay down next to Steve.

"Thanks?" Steve offered, wondering if he even had enough brain cells to think, it felt like they'd been sucked right out. He stared at his husband in awe. "No, really, that was –"

James threw his metal arm across Steve's chest and he startled at the sudden weight of it. Before he had a chance to ask, James was straddling his lap and bringing their lips together. He delved into his mouth, grinding his hardness against Steve. Steve gave a muffled noise of apology as he rolled them over, sliding his hand down into James' damp underwear, wrapping a hand around him. With a few strokes, he could feel James' quivering and tensing around him and Steve gave another slow drag down James' member. James jerked against his hand, moaning as he reached, slumping against Steve. Steve shifted them until James was cuddled against his chest. They traded lazy kisses and Steve got to enjoy the familiar press of James' weight against him and the taste of his mouth. By the time they were both ready for another round, James had the lube out and was languidly pushing two fingers into himself. Steve kissed down to him, appreciating the view up close.

James chuckled huskily. "You just gonna watch? Or you gonna do something to help a guy out?" James slid his fingers free, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Steve carefully shuffled in closer, kissing James as he brought them together in ecstasy. Soon their room was filled with heated moans and the sound of flesh slapping together. They spent the majority of the remaining week tangled up in bed together, in some form of arousal or post-coital, taking breaks for bathing and eating. One of which they could conveniently call room service about. It was probably the most intimate Steve had ever been with another person and he kind of loved it. It was definitely a memorable honeymoon weekend that left him smiling as they got a flight together back to the United States. As much as Steve wanted to, he knew they couldn't hide in Las Vegas forever.

There were a number of things neither of them had discussed. The biggest issue was the fact that they were married but not living together. There wasn't anything in the Alpha Council's rulings that dictated to them that since they were married they had to live together, but Steve wasn't okay with being married and not living together with his partner. His apartment didn't have a lot of space; it was almost cluttered with just his belongings. But with a week? He could probably make enough room for James. A month ago and he never would have imagined himself trying to make space for another person to live in his apartment.

"You know," James said, as he settled into the seat beside Steve. "My lease is up at the end of the month. If you wanted us to –well, live together. Or something." His fingers twitched, drumming against the armrest.

"I was thinking about that," Steve said, smiling slowly. "My lease isn't up for another year and there's enough room for-for two."

"When do you want me to move in?" James asked, setting his hand over Steve's as the plane took off.

"Next week? I'll need at least that much in order to clean the place up."

James nodded, leaning back in his seat as he laced their fingers together. "Sounds good." He paused, glancing at him mischievously. "What do you say we join the mile high club?"

Steve raised an eyebrow at him. "I'm an international icon," he said flatly. "No."

James' eyes widened almost comically. "You mean – you really are –? That makes a lot of sense actually." He blinked. "So, you're saying that if you _weren't_ an international icon, you'd totally be down for it?" He grinned.

Steve sighed, not sure whether to be grateful James and Tony hadn't gotten the chance to know each other or not. "I'm saying no."

And no matter how much pouting James did, Steve refused to give him another answer. They got back to Washington that night and it exchanged an oddly bittersweet goodbye. They were living in the same city but somehow it felt completely wrong to let his husband go home by himself. Then again, there was nothing about the situation that was right. Other than James. James was… kind of perfect. Steve laughed at himself, shaking his head as he grabbed his luggage and waited for a taxi. He could almost hear Natasha laughing at him inside his head and Clint next to her, pointing and calling him a dweeb. Then again, Clint was one to talk. He always got mushy when it came to Coulson, but Clint maybe had more reason than most. For the first time in a long time, Steve had trouble falling asleep.

He ended up spending all night cleaning his apartment up and going over the housing agreement he'd made with his landlord, trying to figure out if he would have to notify anyone about the change in his marital status. He spent the rest of the early morning hours researching his rights as a renter and whether he would have to notify his landlord or S.H.I.E.L.D. and ended up forgetting about his morning run with Sam. By the time his stomach was growling at him, it was nearly nine in the morning and his inbox was stuffed full of messages from Sam, Natasha and Clint. Natasha's message contained pictures of some beautiful architecture in the region and a sunset followed by a simple text containing a date and time. Clint's messages were a series of puns and complicated emoticons Steve didn't bother deciphering. Clint's latest message though was a series of happy faces along with a date and time –the same as Natasha's –which was a good sign. Or possibly a sign of the end of the world as when they got back there would be no hiding James. Not that he really wanted to.

 **Sam:** _Hey man, what's up? You missed our run. Everything okay?_

Steve apologized and explained that he'd just been on holiday for so long he slept in as he started making bacon and eggs. It would be good for James and Sam to meet before Natasha and Clint got here. Sam would be less paranoid and more likely to be a friendly guy, unlike Tony. And after the catastrophe with Tony, he'd much rather James get a chance to meet someone like Sam. He frowned at that, pulling his phone out.

 **Steve:** _Do you have any friends you want me to meet?_

 **James:** _Nah, most of my friends are still on duty._

Steve frowned at that, wondering just how long ago James had left the service for his friends to still be touring. He mentally went over the handful of times he had touched near James' metal arm, at the long healed scars and stitches there. Even if at the start of his last tour, if James had left then, that wouldn't account for how healed his injuries were. They looked like they had been healed a long time ago. But Steve didn't want to press any more than he had to. He didn't exactly know James all that well and no doubt whatever had happened to him was traumatizing. Steve wouldn't ask. He spent the next several days cleaning his apartment out and made sure to notify his landlord about his husband moving in. He glossed over the details as much as possible and bought a new, bigger bed that just barely fit in his apartment. He didn't sleep much the first few days, and it wasn't until James had moved in that he realized it was because he had been sleeping alone for the first time in almost a week. And he'd _missed_ James. But, it seemed James felt the same way too as he showed up with dark circles under his eyes and an easy laugh as he carried his few belongings inside.

"Oh I'm used to moving around a lot, what for missions and all," he'd answered evasively when Steve asked.

After the first few days, there was really no helping the fact that James wanted to go for a job too and that was how Sam and James met each other. Both had a day to get used to the idea of the other. If only everyone could react half as reasonably as Sam did –surprised acceptance –life would be easier for Steve. But James showed up on time in sweat pants and a white tank, shook hands with Sam and headed for his jog. Steve laughed at Sam's outraged expression and kept pace with James.

"What the hell, man?" Sam panted. "Did you marry another superhuman or something?"

"You think I'm superhuman?" James laughed.

"No, no I think – I think you're not even human! You're not even winded!"

James grinned, taking a long drink of his water. "Maybe I'm just more fit," he teased.

Sam snorted. "Oh I wish that's all it was! With some hard work and no chemicals at all, I'll become the next Captain America."

Steve smiled at both of them. "You just gotta eat your vegetables, Sam."

"And your Wheaties don't forget about them."

"Oh god, there's two of you now," Sam moaned, throwing his head back against the tree. He shook his head. "There's two of you."

"Yeah, that's the important part," Steve teased.

By the end of the week, James was part of their morning jog and he and Sam bickered like an old married couple. And without fail, once every morning, Sam would try and outpace James. Only to fall woefully behind. But James was a decent sport about it; he'd make sure to fall back and jog with them at the same pace for a while.

"You sure he ain't got any of that science cocktail you ended up with?" Sam asked, watching as James raced ahead of them. As fun as it was to run with someone who could keep up with him, Steve enjoyed Sam's company.

"There were only five of us. I'm certain it's not that."

"Any meta-abilities then? I've never seen anyone move like he does, Steve."

"Not that I'm aware of."

Sam was quiet for a moment as they jogged together. "How'd you meet him, Steve, really? Not the bullshit Vegas story."

"I'd tell you if I could Sam," Steve answered apologetically.

"Just… it's odd, Steve, that's all. And I don't want to see you get hurt. He's a good guy, a great guy, even I can see that. But you don't really seem to know each other all that well. So just, be careful, alright?"

"I'll be careful."

But it might have been a little late for that talk. They were living together and sleeping together regularly. And Steve knew that he was head over heels for the charming, flirty man living in his house. He just wasn't sure how –or when –to bring something like that up in an arranged marriage. It would be terribly embarrassing to confess only to find out James didn't feel the same. Although, they were married. And there couldn't be that much risk to it. Steve still wanted to do something kind of special, like make James' favorite food or take him out to commemorate the day but it didn't really happen like that. Of course, with James, nothing could ever go according to plan. They were kissing and then they fell into bed together, pressed together and Steve's hand somehow ended up on James' chest, feeling his heart pound. Naked and sprawled over the covers, Steve traced along James' collarbone lightly, feeling his heart swell.

"I love you," he said, mostly just blurting it out. He felt his cheeks flare up with heat.

He was more concerned by the lack of James' response which should have come quickly, James was witty and quick on his feet, he wasn't likely to take his time unless he –unless maybe he didn't feel the same way. So caught up in his thoughts, he didn't immediately notice the tensing and shifting muscles beneath his hand.

In retrospect, everything had been too easy. Maybe he should have seen this was coming. Natasha or Clint would have. Maybe that was why he'd never told them anything, because all along he'd suspected something wasn't quite right. But he just didn't want to burst the bubble. He had been happy, really happy. He wasn't sure if he could remember a time where he was quite this happy. Maybe when he'd finally gotten to be part of Strike Team Delta. But it was too late now. Far too late. He should have listened to his gut, to Sam. The mysteries surrounding James –he really should have asked. He should have gone to S.H.I.E.L.D. and asked them to run the background check. But he'd trusted the Alpha Council's decision.

Steve grunted in pain as James first kicked him off the bed and then launched towards him. Steve crashed into the nightstand and he could feel it cave under his weight, sharp edges pressing against his back but he didn't have time for that right now. He rolled away just as James landed next to him, metal fist slamming into the floor where Steve's head had been only seconds ago.

"James?!" Steve hollered ducking as his husband took another swing at him. His confession, those three words still seemed to be echoing inside his skull and he could only watch as James swung to hit him again. "James, please, I don't – I don't know what's going on!"

James punched again, his flesh hand driving straight into Steve's gut, winding him. Steve shoved him away, pulling back as James' metal hand clipped the very tip of his nose. It left him with the right lighting, just a sliver of a light reflecting off James' eyes, and there was no light in them. James' blue eyes were dark and empty. James stepped closer, each step heavy and weighted, not the light steps Steve had become accustomed to over the last several weeks.

"James?" Steve called again, desperate and confused as his husband reached for him. Steve scrambled backwards. "It's me –it's Steve," he tried, desperate as panic began to claw its way up from his gut.

His hands shook and trembled and he tried to dodge James again but James was faster. James had the desire to fight. He caught hold of Steve and threw him over his shoulder, slamming him onto the bed. He felt something give in his arm and it hurt but he barely had time to register the pain as he heard the bedframe creak and shatter before James pinned him to it and wrapped his hands around his neck. This was different, this wasn't just a fight. This was – James was trying to _kill_ him. Steve jerked reflexively, trying to get his legs free from James' as he elbowed at his chest ineffectively. His arm vibrated in pain –and there was definitely something wrong with it. James pressed harder and Steve gasped for air, black spots dancing across his vision. He writhed underneath James, and shoved up with all his strength. The bed gave way more, the mattress slipping down, and James was unbalanced for just a second. But the second was long enough. Steve heaved James off him, leaping over the bed and reaching for his shield.

"I'm your husband!" Steve growled, pulling his shield upright. His other arm hung limply at his side.

"You're my mission," James replied blankly, staring right at Steve.

"What's happening to you?" Steve asked, horrified.

But James, or whoever it was, didn't answer. Instead, he simply launched himself towards Steve. Steve defended with his shield, struggling to get into a position where he could take the offensive. But he was naked and unprotected and he didn't want to hurt James. Was it even James anymore? It was James' body; James had to be in there somewhere! James, however, did not appear to feel the same. Steve threw his shield, bouncing it off his dresser to hit James in the back –but at the last possible moment, James twisted and caught the shield in his metal hand. He threw it aside, embedding it into the nearest wall. The drywall cracked and crumbled under the force of it, but the shield held in place.

"Why are you doing this?!" Steve demanded, leaping back over the destroyed bed, running for his shield.

"You are in the way of progress," James answered, his voice devoid of any emotion. "It will not be tolerated."

"Progress for whom?" Steve growled, pulling his shield free of the wall.

But James seemed to be done saying what he had to say as he attacked once again, driving Steve into the corner. Steve deflected his blows. He didn't want to fight James but it wasn't like he had a choice. He couldn't stop him. He tried, dumping his shield and getting James into a hold but James was merciless. James wasn't hesitating. He threw Steve to the floor once again and pinned him there in seconds, his hands going around his neck and this time, this time, Steve had no collapsing bed to help him escape. His legs were trapped under James' calves, and his hands under James' knees. He gasped for breath, black spots swimming over his eyes before everything went dark. Consciousness didn't leave him that easily though. Distantly, he heard a door slam open and then the pounding of footsteps. And suddenly James was dislodged from him and Steve gasped, rolling over to inhale as light flooded his vision. He could hear the sound of fighting and he turned to see Natasha and grappling hand-to-hand with James.

Of course. His friends _would_ get to meet his husband when he'd gone homicidal. Clint hauled Steve to his feet, shoving him out of the way as he approached Natasha and James. Watching them, it was almost like they were dancing, Natasha with her legs wrapped around James' neck, a widow's bite pressed to his metal arm. Steve opened his mouth to say –what, he wasn't sure –to maybe ask her to go easier on him, but no sound came out. He couldn't force his body to move either. James slammed her back into the wall and Natasha barely hissed in pain, but she disentangled herself from him. Clint ran in next and Steve reached to grab him but he couldn't. Natasha could use the help and it wasn't like –it wasn't like James was innocent. Not entirely. Clint slammed James back against the wall and Natasha started to speak but Steve wasn't sure what language it was. He didn't know what she was saying. But James only laughed as he fought Clint.

"Cowardly Ronin, what do you think you're doing?" James growled.

"Stopping you," Clint snarled.

Watching Clint and James was fight was like watching Clint fight Natasha. The two of them seemed to anticipate each other's every move and were countering three steps ahead of the ones they made. They traded blows, glancing blows, but it was clear James had the advantage. He was stronger and just that much faster. Clint seemed to be hyperaware of that, as well as the metal arm. But he was unfazed by James' nudity and he was fighting dirty. Aiming for the tender spots where he could –and there were plenty of them exposed. Natasha finished reciting whatever she had been and joined the fray. It was still long moments before the battle was ended and Steve could only stare in shock as both Clint and Natasha fought together to bring his husband down. Clint grunted in pain as he took the brunt of James' fist onto his back, having driven his elbow into his gut. Excluding Natasha's widow's bite, neither of them had drawn weapons or allowed James the advantage of grabbing one of their own. Natasha leaped onto him, her thighs around James' neck as Clint slammed into him, knocking James down before quickly pinning him. James struggled, feet and hands spasming until consciousness fled him. Natasha eased her grip incrementally before stepping aside while Clint worked to zip tie his hands and feet together. They were both breathing hard and Clint was bleeding from his nose and split lip. Natasha had a limp. Steve numbly pulled on a pair of boxers.

"How did you guys get here?"

"Flew in," Clint answered.

"Surprise visit," Natasha replied.

"Neighbour of yours works for S.H.I.E.L.D. in case anyone ever tried to attack you here but we were practically closer. And infinitely more qualified."

"Why exactly is the most dangerous man in the world living with you?" Natasha asked coolly, glaring across the room at him.

Steve sat down, hard. "Could we maybe… I need a little time." To process. He stared across at his naked husband, zip tied and unconscious. He didn't know how he felt. Or what he felt.

By the time Steve had gotten dressed, Natasha and Clint had ushered him out of the building all the while carrying his unconscious husband along with them to the S.H.I.E.L.D. transport waiting for them. Both of them climbed into the back with James, allowing Steve some privacy as he sat up front, alone with his thoughts. He couldn't put anything into order. Marrying James was a ploy? It was all… fake? But why wait until just then to attack –James had plenty of other chances. They'd been sleeping together for nearly a month. He was defenseless in his sleep and with that metal arm of his, he could have easily crushed Steve's windpipe. But instead James waited. What was he waiting for? For Steve to say that he loved him? Had the Alpha Council been in on it the whole time? It wasn't like he was short on enemies but he had trusted the Alpha Council's background check. Really, it was his own fault that the situation had gotten so out of control. He should have asked more questions, fought back against the Alpha Council. Now here he was with a few fractured ribs, a dislocated shoulder and an assortment of healing bruises.

They arrived at S.H.I.E.L.D. and it was Clint and Natasha who escorted the unconscious James Barnes down to S.H.I.E.L.D's interrogation room. Steve found himself walking into the observation room without consciously deciding that was where he wanted to be. A few short minutes later and Clint walked in. Natasha had finished restraining James and had taken a seat in the interrogation room.

"You okay, Steve?" Clint asked, shutting the door behind him.

"Peachy," he said brusquely. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, did just walk in your boyfriend kicking your ass. S.H.I.E.L.D. has resources if you need to, ah, talk about that kind of thing."

"It's none of your business," Steve growled, turning away from the mirror. He didn't want to talk about this with Clint. Besides, it wasn't like James was abusive or anything. Steve didn't know _what_ he was, but that was beside the point.

"Probably isn't," Clint agreed, leaning against the wall. "But you're my boss half the time, and the guy in there? When he isn't out of his mind murdering people, he's saved my ass a few times."

"Shit, sorry," Steve muttered, looking over at him.

Clint shrugged easily, his attention still on the man in the interrogation room. "It's not like you knew. Nat and Phil do, of course. How long you been sleeping with him?"

"Month and a bit."

"I didn't expect to run into him like this," Clint said quietly.

"Sounds like you know him a lot better than having just been saved by the guy," Steve pointed out.

"Yeah, well, we ended up in the same place," Clint sighed. "And we escaped from there together. I fell in with S.H.I.E.L.D. and he –he didn't get so lucky. I've been trying to find him for some time now."

"I didn't know you were involved with the military," Steve said, glancing at Clint. "And I wouldn't say he was unlucky to end up in the military. They're not that bad… What is it?"

Clint had frowned, turning to stare at him in confusion. "Bucky was never in the military."

"His –his name is James," Steve corrected, and it was like his brain had suddenly become deaf to everything else. It was the one thought ringing loud and clearly in his head.

"Yeah," Clint drawled, uncrossing his arms. "James Buchanan Barnes. And no, he was never in the military. He was kidnapped into Hydra."

Steve walked up to the glass, staring at the unconscious man tied to the chair. The man that had never seemed familiar before suddenly seemed to be eerily so. It was probably just his imagination. It _had_ to be his imagination. There was no way…

"He was like a young teen. They made him into the Winter Soldier and when they bought me? Bucky was the one who trained me how to fight. And we escaped together. But we had this stupid idea about getting revenge and Hydra took him back. I haven't seen him since then, Steve. If you guys were dating –"

"Married," Steve said hoarsely. He couldn't seem to take his eyes off James. He was trying to see what he had missed earlier. _How_ had he missed it? _How_?

"Married?!" Clint sputtered. "I thought Tony was joking around –married?!"

Steve nodded slowly, feeling the world start to tilt on its axis. He needed to see James. He needed to know. "Alpha Council ordered it," Steve whispered. "They said his background check was clear."

"Steve… Hydra probably sent him in order to kill you. They," Clint pulled away, running his hand through his hair, "they can implant memories, an entire personality made to fit the victim's desires and at a trigger word, the-the Hydra agent will wake up. And finish the job they were tasked with."

Steve froze at that, his hand spasming into a fist. "The man I've known for the last two months then –"

"Never really existed," Clint finished.

"And Ja –Bucky, Bucky will be aware of that, right?"

"Yeah," Clint said quietly. "Yeah, he'll remember it when he wakes up."

Steve swallowed back bile and fought to keep the contents of his stomach right where they were. The man he'd been with, the one he'd fallen in love with –was nothing. Was no one. Had never really been there at all.

"I –I need to see him, there's something I need to see."

"Okay," Clint said warily.

Steve nearly ran out of the room, pulling up a website he hadn't been to in years. And there, on the front of the webpage was the last picture taken of Bucky Barnes. Cropped out of the photo was his skinny, asthmatic best friend. Looking at the face though, there was no mistaking him. Steve could see the way Bucky had grown, how his hair had darkened into a nice brown and he filled into adulthood. His eyes though –how had Steve never recognized his eyes? Other than sharing the same name, he hadn't even stopped to consider the similarities. He should have. He should have. He stopped in front of the interrogation room. He didn't have to go inside to know the truth. The truth was already staring up at him from his phone. Bucky would never forgive him. Bucky could never forgive him. Steve should have known, he should have realized. Of course it was Bucky. His hair was less curly and a lot shorter than Bucky used to keep it when they were kids. The lines around his eyes and the stubble on his jaw were new and yet so familiar.

Steve walked away. He felt sick to his stomach. At himself. How had he failed his best friend so badly? And had he – if Bucky was aware of what had gone on when he was James, had there ever been consent between them? Steve walked into the nearest bathroom, locking the door behind him once he made sure it was empty. He sat down on the floor hard, struggling to get air into his lungs. It felt like an asthma attack but it wasn't. It wasn't. He just couldn't breathe –Bucky was alive and well but Steve, Steve had practically participated in abusing him. If he'd asked, if he'd told Clint or Natasha more about his missing best friend, they could have done something sooner. They could have tried. But no. He left Bucky out there in the world. And he wasn't sure he wanted to know what else Bucky had been doing. When had Clint joined Hydra even? Well it was less joined than sold from the way he spoke –why hadn't Steve known that sooner? He could remember Clint showing up, how his skills were so hailed. Steve thought at first that it was all blown out of proportion. What would have happened if that night in the cafeteria when he met Clint, if he had said that his missing friend was Bucky Barnes. And he still had to call Rebecca. She needed to know that her brother was alive.

At the shrill cry of a hawk, Steve looked down at his phone to realize that his eyes were damp and he could breathe again. He slid the screen over, taking an even breath before he put the phone against his ear.

"Natasha says she needs to know what triggered him to attack you," Clint said apologetically. "What was the last thing you told him before he attacked you? That was probably the trigger word Hydra gave him." Steve didn't answer, wasn't sure if he could even if he wanted to. "I'm sorry to ask this, just, Natasha thinks it might snap the Winter Soldier out of it…"

"I love you," Steve rasped.

There was a long pause. "I, uh, what –"

"The trigger word," Steve growled. "That was the last thing I said to him."

And then he hung up before Clint could get another word out.

* * *

Awareness crept in slowly, like scattered beams of sunlight, piece by piece. They never could quite fill in the empty places or put his jigsaw puzzle of memories together. But he could remember that there was something important he had to do. And while he could remember the redheaded woman, the archer and the knight, those faint recollections stirred nothing in his hazy mind. He blinked his eyes open, wincing at the bright light that flooded his senses. He sat up slowly, scanning the room and nearly missed the woman standing at the end of his bed. Beyond her were plain beige walls, and a number of empty beds, he was in an infirmary of some sort.

"Mr. Barnes?" inquired the woman in a soft voice.

She was middle aged, wearing a fuzzy blue sweater and black dress pants. Her golden hair was braided back, giving a stern appearance to her. He eyed her distrustfully. While he couldn't remember much, he knew this was not part of what he could recall. He was in a bedroom last time, he was sure of that, grappling with a naked man. Why, he didn't have the faintest idea.

"I'm Dr. O'Keith with S.H.I.E.L.D. medical. I'm here to see to your health."

"I feel fine," he replied guardedly, staring at her.

"You aren't physically injured," she answered carefully. "And I'm less of a general health doctor and more of a psychiatrist."

Bucky smirked despite himself. "Let me guess, there's something wrong with my head?" Of course there was something wrong with his brain. He couldn't remember much of his past.

"We believe so," she replied. "We want to help you, Mr. Barnes. If you'd let me –"

"No," he said flatly, pulling away from her as she took a step forward.

"You didn't even let me finish," she argued, a touch of amusement coloring her tone.

"Didn't need to hear the rest," he said warily, moving to get his feet only to be stopped from retreating by a magnetic clamp. His metal arm was inside the clamp. He jerked roughly but the clamp didn't even move. There wasn't going to be a simple escape from it. He glanced over his shoulder at the doctor defensively. "What is this?" he growled.

"It's for my protection and the protection of other medical staff."

Bucky sat down slowly, tuning her out as she carried on speaking. What _was_ the last thing he remembered? It was an impossible question to answer. He remembered Hydra and their lessons; the young kids that tagged along after him –first the blonde boy, then later the girls and then Ronin. He had to teach them. All the time until they were as good as he was. But he also remembered the sound of rain falling, droplets soaking through the roof and dripping onto his face. He had been burning alive but above him was the blonde hero. And then he remembered finding the red demon, the woman who took him to Hydra. He'd been very foolish and had left Hydra. He didn't know why. Hydra was his home. He was a hero, he did good work. Why would he ever leave? And then he had a job to do, it was his most important job ever. There was a fight because of it, with the red demon, the archer and the knight. But why? He didn't know.

He looked up to find Dr. O'Keith was red-faced, likely from shouting judging by the flush to her cheeks. With a huff, she slammed the door open and left without closing it. Beyond the doorway, he could see windows that showcased nothing but blue skies. He could also see people wearing suits and tac gear walking down the hallway. An older man with a receding hairline stepped into the doorway.

"I'm sorry about that," he said, sounding annoyingly sincere. "My name is Phil Coulson, I'm a senior agent of the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division." Bucky stared at him blankly; the man and his organization meant nothing to him. "Do you mind if I sit down?" he asked, gesturing at the chair to his right. Bucky offered no response, curious to see how the agent would respond. The agent gave no sign of discomfort and made no move to sit down. "I'd like to go over your situation with you."

"I'll talk when you take this thing off my arm," Bucky grouched, watching the agent suspiciously.

Agent Coulson tilted his head to the side, blue eyes on Bucky thoughtfully. "Will you promise to not attack me and guarantee that you won't try to escape if I do?"

"Yes," he said vehemently. The freedom was more than worth it. He would escape or fight after Agent Coulson's description, he needed to understand his situation first in order to properly evaluate the dangers. But at the end of that, no one would be putting him back in the clamp.

Agent Coulson walked over to the far wall, pressing a button there that Bucky hadn't noticed. The magnets that held the clamps shut released and Bucky gratefully pulled his arm free, running his flesh fingers across the metal plates. It was probably unnecessary; he couldn't remember a time when his plates had ever been damaged. But once he'd ascertained it was okay, he relaxed and directed his attention towards the other agent.

"You were placed in an arranged marriage, something of which you had agreed to, and then you tried to murder your husband, who is a valuable member in our agency." Agent Coulson paused, his eyes on Bucky.

"I'm married?" he repeated skeptically. "You're nuts."

"I have two copies of your marriage certificate here. For the last five months, you have been going by the name James Barnes, stating that you did not have a middle name." At that, Agent Coulson drew out two pieces of paper from his briefcase, handing them over.

Bucky grabbed them in disbelief, staring at his own signature in confusion. There was no doubt it was his. No one else ever put the double loops on the B in Barnes other than him. He blinked as he realized he put the elegant loops onto the B because that was how his mother insisted it had to be done. Such an odd thought. He could remember nothing before he was a teenager. And what he _could_ recall was fragmented and scattered. Patchy at best. He knew he had to have a mother, someone who had given birth to him, but he'd assumed that she hadn't been part of his life. It was all a blank mystery to him.

"So I guess I was married," he said flatly. "Where's my… husband now?" He resisted the urge to grimace at the very word.

"He's trying to understand why you tried to kill him."

Bucky sighed, rolling his shoulders. "I don't know why. I didn't even know I was married." But he knew that there was no way it was his choice. He didn't work well with people. He didn't like people. He liked being on his own.

Agent Coulson reached into his brief case, pulling out another sheet of paper. "We are a government agency here and as such we've had time to process you and check your background. What we know of you. Which leaves you in a rocky position, Mr. Barnes, as you've left quite a number of bodies in your wake."

Bucky frowned at him. What did he mean by that?

"You've killed a number of high-ranking officials within the United States of America. And you are a citizen of our country and as such, some of my bosses want to see you go to jail because of the number of assassinations you've committed."

That made sense. Bucky couldn't say why but, it made sense. Of course he killed people. "I see," he said. Should he be apologetic for murdering people he didn't remember? He glanced around the room and came up with eight different ways to kill him. If he thought on it a little longer, he was sure he could double the number.

Agent Coulson paused again, but this time he seemed more hesitant than anything else. "There are a few people here, your husband included, who remember you in a different view. And they want to do everything in their power to keep you safe."

"What are you talking about?"

Agent Coulson sighed softly. "You were taken as a child, kidnapped, likely by Hydra agents who raised you into a truly terrifying fighter. And had you train their other victims. Men and women like the Black Widows and Ronin."

Bucky frowned at that. None of it seemed familiar, other than the part about Ronin. "I don't know my family," he said instead.

"You have a younger sister and a very close family friend."

Huh. A sister. That didn't seem right. If he had a kid sister, he was sure he would have remembered her. Then again, he had parents at one point too. And he didn't remember them either. "I… see."

Agent Coulson smiled almost kindly. "Do you have any questions for me?"

"When can I leave?"

"I'm afraid you can't yet. Your family is working hard to get you out. But there is some bureaucratic tape in the way first."

Bucky paused, looking around the room. He smiled bitterly. "They're charging me for those people I killed. They won't let me go."

"We're doing what we can to help you Mr. Barnes."

Bucky nodded slowly, staring at out the hallway. Of course they were. He looked down at the marriage certificate in his hands, wondering who Steve Rogers was to this organization. Because there was no way they were going to all the trouble of trying to save him just because he had amnesia. At least he knew who he was. His name was James Buchanan Barnes but he preferred Bucky. He was an assassin. He was sure he had a name to go with him when he was murdering people. But most importantly, he knew he had a mission to do. He just didn't know what it was.


	5. Silhouettes

Silhouettes

The next several days passed with a flurry of activity. Boring, repetitive activity. His infirmary room filled with a parade of people; first it was doctors, then nurses and then S.H.I.E.L.D. agents started filtering in, asking useless questions. What did he remember about his time with his previous employers? Nothing. Why did he try to kill his husband? No idea. What was the last thing he could remember? Waking up in the infirmary. Were all the questions necessary? The doctors and the nurses had asked all the same ones and he hadn't changed his answer once. When the second agent showed up, he flat out refused to answer any more questions. Which apparently warranted an immediate phone call to some other agent up the chain of command by name of Coulson.

His escape plan was still a work in progress. He wanted everyone to be slack and complacent before he made his escape. While some of their agents were certainly not intimidating, he knew there were other agents like Coulson who were competent. And for those agents, he needed to escape unnoticed so as to provide him with a nice cushion of time in which he could disappear. And, as expected, within the hour, Agent Coulson showed up.

"I hear you're being difficult today, Mr. Barnes," Agent Coulson said, smiling slightly. "Would stretching your legs improve your mood?"

"That is bribery," Bucky pointed out already getting to his feet. "It won't work every time."

"Of course it won't," the agent said mildly. "But for today?"

"Today it will," Bucky sighed. Staring at four while walls, was entirely boring and he was itching to move. He inventoried his body language, making sure he wasn't projecting any signs of impatience or frustration. Giving too much away was a very, very dangerous thing to do.

Agent Coulson smiled blandly. "Maybe next time I'll offer quality food. That used to work on Clint."

Clint? "I'm not picky about food," he said instead.

"The bland hospital food hasn't driven you insane yet?" Agent Coulson laughed. "I'm impressed. I think that would have done me in."

"Food is food," Bucky said, looking around his surroundings as he left the infirmary for the first time. He suspected at least a week had passed since he woke up with memories.

Agent Coulson led him down a number of hallways and corridors that all looked identical to him. And Coulson had probably done it in an effort to make any escape attempt of Bucky's infinitely more challenging. He glanced at Agent Coulson; despite the man's bland and unassuming appearance, he practically oozed competence and restrained efficiency. He was not someone Bucky was willing to risk being alerted to his escape plan. Escape plans needed to be kept safe and confidential. Agent Coulson led him out a set of doors and into what must have been an agent training facility. Clearly Coulson had planned ahead because the room was deserted. He chanced a peek at the man to discover he was wearing that bland expression again. Bucky surveyed the equipment which was of course in excellent condition. He walked over to the weight lifting machine and grabbed one of the dumbbells. He set it back down, unimpressed and uninterested.

"I want to go outside," he said.

"Follow me," Agent Coulson replied, leading him back out of the room like he'd been expecting Bucky's request all along.

Agent Coulson again led him down the maze of corridors and then he opened a set of doors which led into an enclosed courtyard. Bucky walked into it, not even caring that this had been another set up courtesy of Agent Coulson. The courtyard was completely empty. Bucky found that he didn't mind the quiet solitude as he stepped onto the garden stones and followed the path they led. The garden had to be located in the middle of the building and seemed to have been heavily inspired by Asian influence. There were plenty of plants and small flowering trees around as he walked further in, ducking to avoid low hanging branches, he almost stepped into the middle of the pond. Everything in the garden was artfully arranged and placed just perfectly to match with the theme. Whatever the theme was, Bucky had no idea, but there had to be some kind of a connecting theme in a place like this. As he came to the opposite end of the garden, the sound of voices reached his ears.

He glanced back towards Agent Coulson as the other man made his way over. He turned back, looking through the trees to the two agents who were hidden there.

"He should be tried!" argued one of the agents. "To the fullest extent of the law. I don't care who he is to Captain America; I can't believe Director Fury would let him go unpunished!"

"Shh," hissed the other agent. "The Director has ears everywhere."

"Let him," boasted the first speaker. "Barnes murdered all sorts of people –including innocents, including Tony Stark's parents His finger prints were a _match_. I say it's time for him to face justice!"

"Who else did I kill?" Bucky asked as he walked up to the couple. The names they'd mentioned meant nothing to him.

The two agents startled and on closer inspection he could tell the young woman who was insisting he go to court was really more of a lab person, judging by her white lab coat.

"Anjela," she growled. "Anjela was going to change everything for Omegas when she testified against that awful politician who abused her –but no, you killed her! And you killed the great Howard Stark, along with his innocent wife, not to mention –!"

"Agent Michaels, Analyst Washington," Agent Coulson said sharply. "Take your complaints to Assistant Director Hill. Immediately. And I suggest you admit to her that you disobeyed the direct orders placed upon you. Go, now."

The analyst fled shame faced while the younger agent hesitated only long enough to mumble an apology before disappearing.

"I guess I have enemies, huh?" Bucky asked, staring at the space where the two agents had been.

"You do."

"Is my husband one of them?" It would make sense. Maybe S.H.I.E.L.D. was protecting him from his high ranking spouse.

Agent Coulson made a face. "Definitely not from him," he said, his tone oddly reserved.

"And why is it that Director Fury isn't charging me? They probably have all the evidence they need."

Agent Coulson sighed. "Because it wouldn't be fair to you, Mr. Barnes."

"How?"

"Because you… weren't yourself," Agent Coulson supplied awkwardly. "You haven't been yourself for quite some time."

Bucky frowned. "If I wasn't myself, then who was I?"

Coulson looked up at the sky. "What do you remember?"

Bucky growled in frustration. "Nothing. And the doctors don't even think I'll ever remember."

Agent Coulson stiffened. "Have they said that?"

"Not in so many words, but I've never had a good memory for that kind of a thing." For remembering his own past. The Swordsman used to say it was his biggest asset –and that was why some Hydra agents called him the Asset. "Tell me who I was. Because I'll probably never remember." And he'd rather know what he had done, all the horrible things, because maybe he could start making amends for them. If being put on trial was what people needed from him, he would gladly do it.

"I'm afraid," Agent Coulson said slowly, "I'm afraid that's a conversation you need to have with your doctors. For right now, we want you to remember things as you experienced them. Not the facts that we know."

"They're facts about me," Bucky protested. "It's my body, my memories, why can't I know?"

And Agent Coulson appeared genuinely sad as he said, "I'm sorry." Was it so much to ask that he got the chance to know who he was and what he had done? Despite his insistence, Agent Coulson would not answer his question.

Instead he was led back through a different set of hallways until he had arrived at his room from a completely different direction than he had left it. And despite his arguments with his doctors, none of them would tell him anything or lift their order. Bucky couldn't think of a single thing more frustrating. So he started plotting his escape instead. Not that any of his ideas were looking very do-able. Although Agent Coulson had since begun regularly taking him to the garden and equipment room, he was finding it hard to memorize the ways to and from the infirmary. He suspected Coulson was taking him a different way each time just to prevent him from escaping, but eventually Coulson would run out of ways. It was just a matter of time. It felt like weeks had passed, but his doctors maintained tight lipped and seemed to only grow more impatient the less progress Bucky made. And he didn't even know what they wanted from him.

Probably to remember his past, but that hadn't happened in the last five years. And it wasn't about to start up again either. He'd had years to become accustomed to that fact. Apparently, his doctors didn't feel the same. Although he tried to push them into giving him information (first by asking questions, and then by threatening them) all it resulted in was a visit from Agent Coulson. And while Bucky respected the man, he was getting tired. He could only stay out for so long, and he could only visit the garden and the training facility. He was bored. If they had tried to keep him bedridden, his behaviors would have been worse, but as it was, Coulson gave him just enough freedom to prevent him from acting out.

"Maybe we should let Agent Barton –"

Bucky looked up in surprise as his doctor walked in with a nurse.

"No, definitely not."

"Then we should try –"

"Mr. Barnes!" Dr. Rubin exclaimed in surprise. "I thought you were out with Agent Coulson."

"Didn't want to today," he replied warily, setting his book down. (It was something called Star Was; it wasn't terrible. Coulson had picked it out for him.)

Dr. Rubin smiled sheepishly. "Well sorry to disturb you Bucky." And with that, he walked out of the infirmary, the nurse hot on his heels.

Bucky sighed loudly and went back to his book. These people. Who were they planning to contact? By the end of the next day he'd moved onto another sci-fi series that Coulson had recommended and he'd given up on puzzling who the nurse had been talking about bringing in. Until the mid-afternoon when Coulson opened the infirmary doors and let an unfamiliar young woman inside. She was maybe twenty-five with dark brown hair and bright blue eyes. She was wearing a leather jacket, which set her distinctly apart from all the doctors and agents he had seen so far.

"Did you bring me a new babysitter?" Bucky asked amusedly.

The young woman gasped and bit down on her lip. He sat up, almost apologetic, but for what he had no idea. She didn't tear up but she did offer a shake of her head.

"No, not a babysitter," Coulson said gently. "A friend. Her name is Rebecca. She's someone you used to know. Dr. Rubin thought she might be able to jog your memory."

"Someone I knew?" Bucky repeated dumbly. Nothing about her was familiar, not a single thing. He hadn't expected there to be. He could only imagine how disappointed everyone else was going to be when they realized.

"That's okay," she replied, her voice strangely gentle. "I'm just glad you're okay."

Bucky blinked. "Thanks?" Had there been something wrong with him before?

She nodded uncertainly, glancing at Coulson. Coulson gave her a kind smile and she turned back to Bucky. There was nothing about her that was familiar, but Bucky had the oddest desire of wanting to comfort her. He frowned in her direction. What an odd thing to want to do.

"Is she allowed to talk to me about my past?" he asked, expecting the answer to be a no.

"She can. If you're interested."

Bucky sat up straighter, staring at her. She didn't look remotely frightened by his stare. "I'm interested."

"Did you want water or something while we talk?" she asked, and she seemed like she was more comfortable in her skin than she had been just minutes ago.

"Water," he agreed, glancing at Coulson as the other man gave them space.

"I will be in the hall, just in case anything happens," he explained, offering an apologetic smile to Bucky before leaving the room.

For the first time since he'd woken up, Bucky had a little privacy. He turned back to Rebecca as she sat down on the cot across from his, handing him a plastic cup of water. He took a slow sip, trying to figure out what he wanted to ask. What question was the most important?

"Did you know my parents?" he asked, staring at his cup of water.

"Yes," she answered softly. "Yes, I-I knew them quite well, actually."

"What-what were they like?"

She took a minute before she answered. "They were both very kind and giving people. They never stopped believing you would come home, that you were out there somewhere." She inhaled softly. "Winifred, your mother, was a pianist. She taught you to play. And when she was pregnant with-with your sister, she quit playing and stayed at home to look after you and your sister. She taught you how to write and draw and sent you to school. She –when you'd had a bad day, she used to make you a root beer float. And she always put a little splash of vanilla in it." Rebecca paused, chuckling sadly, "After that, you um, you hated root beer because it never tasted right."

Bucky listened, trying to remember. "What did –what did she look like?"

Rebecca froze for a moment and then pulled a picture out from her pocket. "It's um; this is a picture of them. I got it from –from your sister."

She held it out towards him and Bucky slowly, carefully took the picture from her hand. It was clearly an older picture, worn at the edges and sepia-colored. But for the first time that he knew, he could remember his parents' faces. Looking at their faces, it was like all the memories were just there on the tip of his tongue, just out of reach. But try as he might, he couldn't remember. Nothing came to mind. He went over the stories Rebecca had shared, tried to picture his mother teaching him piano, making him root beer floats. But there was just nothing. He stared at his parent's faces, recognizing some of his features on their faces.

"Your um, your dad was a banker. He didn't really like his job, he wanted to stay home with you and-and your sister. But he, he uh, there was this one time, when you'd gotten in trouble at school and he got called in to talk with the teachers about why you were getting into so many fights. And-and by this point, you were already good friends with Steve –"

"Steve Rogers?" he asked, glancing at her.

She paused, nodding awkwardly. "The three of us kind of grew up together."

Bucky nodded slowly, staring at the picture of his parents again. He didn't want to think about how screwed in the head Steve Rogers had to be about this whole thing. He didn't have the energy to care. "So what happened when –when he went into the school?"

Rebecca smiled sadly again. "He chewed them out for not dealing with the kids picking on Steve and said if they did their jobs, you'd stop going around getting into fights with every kid in the playground. They never did call about you being in fights after that."

"Are they -?" He couldn't bring himself to finish the question.

Rebecca shook her head slowly. "Sorry, no. M –Winifred passed away ten years ago and-and George two years after that."

Bucky nodded slowly. "Thank you for sharing," he said softly. He didn't know them. He didn't remember them. But he had wondered –if they were out there, somewhere. If they wanted him. He didn't know if they had sold him. But they didn't sound like the type. Maybe he was just a lost kid. Now, an orphan.

"You know what your s-sister said she remembered most clearly about you?" Rebecca didn't wait for him to answer. "She said she remembers when you taught her to defend herself."

His answer was automatic, and later, he would try to remember where it had come from but he would come up without any answers. "I was teaching _Steve_ , someone else just happened to tag along and pick up the lesson." Rebecca gasped, staring at him in surprise. Bucky blinked, swallowing. "I-I don't remember that," he said quickly.

"That's okay," she said, gently.

"Why –why didn't my sister come?" he asked, uncertain. Did his sister even remember him?

"S.H.I.E.L.D. and the doctors were worried she might… upset you, more than anything else. Stress you out. So they got in touch with me." She was gazing at him sadly, like she was begging him to remember something more, something else. He wanted to hug her.

"What does she do now?"

"She's a police officer," Rebecca answered softly, looking away.

"Oh," he said, not sure why that was so surprising. "Is she – does she look for lost kids?"

"Yeah, she does."

Bucky smiled, trying to picture what his little sister might look like. "Good, good for her. I'm glad not everything about my disappearance was so terrible for her. I bet she's really good at her job."

"She is," Rebecca whispered, blinking back tears.

This time, Bucky gave in and let himself hug her. Rebecca cried against him and he awkwardly rubbed her back, wondering what he was doing with himself and this strange girl. He wasn't meant to go around comforting people, least of all those he didn't know. But there was something different about Rebecca. He only wished he knew what that difference was.

The doctors didn't seem that disappointed in his lack of progress anymore. But they spent a lot of time talking with Rebecca when she was ready to leave. She shared plenty of stories about his sister and Steve, but she didn't talk about herself. Even when he asked, she just said that the doctors wouldn't let her share her own stories as they wanted Bucky to remember on his own. He wished he could remember his past. But it wasn't a surprise to him that he couldn't. It was a constant disappointment though. He spent his days reading, taking exercise when it was offered and breathing in the fresh garden air. Most of all, he spent his days planning. Thinking about when and how he would escape. He had everything he needed except for Agent Coulson's complacence. But then he wasn't sure what he had been expecting. He'd have to try without the other man's false sense of security.

He was going to try and break out that night. He had picked out a vent and he was pretty sure he understood where it would lead –straight to the training facility –and from there, it would be a quick jog to the stairs. He didn't want to take the elevator in case someone remotely locked it down on him. So it would have to be the stairs, straight to the main floor before he went out the front doors. There was no way it would be that simple on its own, but he still had his arm. He knew how to fight. He could do it.

He picked up his latest book, some kind of a fantasy sci-fi hybrid that was surprisingly entertaining. If anyone ever asked his opinion Coulson, he would have to say that the man had good taste in books. He was halfway through his book, around the part where Dresden was going to confront the Council, when the infirmary door opened. He set his book down, looking up to see an unfamiliar agent standing at attention. After all the time Bucky had spent with Coulson, this agent seemed surprisingly informal dressed in black tactical pants and a t-shirt. Both bore the S.H.I.E.L.D. insignia so he could be reasonably sure the man worked for the agency. Oddly, he wore one black fingerless glove on his right hand.

"James Barnes?" he asked.

"Yeah?" Bucky asked warily.

"Secretary Pierce wants to talk to you. I'm here to take you to him."

Bucky dog-eared the page he was on, getting to his feet. He could read the tense lines in the man's body language. Bucky was fairly certain that if he refused to go, the agent would have done his best to fight him into going. And it wasn't like he had anything better to do or any orders not to leave with certain S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel, so he followed the agent. Though he had no idea what a secretary could want with him. They went straight to an elevator and rode it in silence until they reached the very top floor. Everything was made of glass. Bucky hated it. He had to resist the urge to just break through the glass with his arm as the shadowy agent led him into a cushy office space. There was a man standing in the center of his office, the lights illuminating him. Behind him, his windows were tinted. He smiled, for a given measure of the word, at the agent behind Bucky.

"Thank you Rumlow," he said. "Leave." The agent dressed in black gave a nod of his head and turned on his heel, walking out the door. "You're James Barnes, I understand?" asked the man in a pinstripe suit. Whoever he was, he wasn't a secretary like Bucky had thought. He was a big shot, some Secretary with a capital S.

"Yes," Bucky answered stiffly. It was his legal name.

Pierce smiled at him, little more than a thinning of his lips. "You're the one everyone has been so worked up about lately. It's nice to finally meet you. I'm Alexander Pierce, Secretary of Defense."

Bucky forced himself to smile respectfully. "Didn't know people were talking about me." He certainly hadn't thought they would have been speaking of him so loudly that the _Secretary of Defense_ would be involved with him.

"Well, you know how people love to talk. Come, sit down, have a drink."

Feeling uneasy, Bucky did as he was told. Pierce handed him a glass of clear liquid which Bucky took a tentative sip from, simultaneously relieved and disappointed that it wasn't vodka. Just water. He felt like this was a conversation that might require alcohol in order to survive. And he didn't really care if his doctors had forbidden alcohol, seeing as they were denying him so many other things as well. Being allowed to know his crimes, to see his sister, to eat red meat, to drink alcohol. He was done following his doctors' orders.

"And people _do_ like to talk about the man who almost killed Captain America." Pierce smiled sharply, like he was proud or something. "It's a very notable conversation piece. Hard for me to not hear about it."

Bucky nodded, taking a slow sip of water. His hand was shaking. He didn't know why but it wouldn't stop either. He swallowed, setting the glass back down carefully. He wasn't sure why but he didn't want Pierce to know. He glanced at the Secretary.

"Do you know what I think?" Pierce asked, staring out of his office window, hands tucked harmlessly into his pockets.

But he didn't look that harmless to Bucky. The Secretary of Defense appeared unarmed, and yet, he seemed like the more dangerous of the two of them. Bucky shrugged, trying to appear unconcerned as he watched Pierce's every move.

"I think no one knows what's going to happen next. But Fury's got the right idea, keeping you safe. Out there? Out there they would tear you alive but in here you'll be safe. I imagine you want to get free. But, whatever happens will happen, after all. Or as the Russians say it, bila ne bila."

Pierce turned towards him, a grim smile on his lips, as the world around Bucky went dark. _There was and there wasn't._ He was sure Pierce's monologue wasn't over just yet, but that was the last Bucky heard.

"…me?"

Bucky blinked at the fog clouding his mind, squinting in the darkness to see the figure standing in front of him. He'd only seen his face a handful of times, but his name jumped to the tip of his tongue. Captain America –Steve Rogers.

"Bucky!" the Captain said it sharply, like he'd been trying to get his attention for a while now. He was out of uniform, wearing a button-up and jeans, bleeding from a cut on his lip. "Do you trust me?"

Bucky focused on him slowly and gave a nod. Everything about Steve seemed brighter when he smiled. He held out his hand and Bucky realized with a start that the other man was unarmed. Steve was unarmed and he was offering his hand to an armed assassin. Bucky still had all three of his knives _and_ a semi-automatic strapped to his back. But that might have had more to do with the fact that he was injured. He wasn't even sure if Steve knew he was injured, or if Steve had been the one to cause the wound. But that was definitely blood soaking through his tac suit.

"Then jump!"

 _Jump?_ He thought. _Jump where?_ There was nowhere to jump to. Except, apparently, there was. Because Steve jumped through the large glass window just before the first bullet slammed into the wall where Steve's head had been. Bucky followed seconds after him, feeling the heat of a bullet sear across his cheek as he did so. The landing was hard and Bucky definitely wasn't prepared to land on pavement, but Steve was already racing off so he followed after him, trying to figure out what had happened from what he last remembered. He was missing time again and there was nothing more frustrating. Because the last thing he remembered? Was reading a book in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s infirmary. And he was pretty sure that Captain America hadn't been allowed to see him.

Yet, here he was, running across a highway following Captain America. Did he know why? No. Was it worse to be with Captain America or worse to get caught by his pursuers? Fuck, he was so fucked in the head he didn't even know which option was worse. But judging by the fact that the guys behind them were shooting at him, and Captain America hadn't made an attempt on his life –short of a slightly death defying leap out of a window –Bucky was going to assume that the Captain was the better choice. Maybe not the safer choice, but at least he wasn't trying to kill him intentionally. Or if he was, maybe Captain Rogers had missed out on being a startlingly effective assassin.

Steve leapt over a road divider and rolled down the grassy embankment. Bucky slid down after him, careful to not gouge the grass with his metal hand and leave a clear trail. Captain America hopped to his feet, glancing at him. Bucky got to his feet, a thousand questions churning inside his head, but as Steve set off at a brisk jog into the night, Bucky followed. Wherever they were going was a fair distance away. By the time they were halfway there, he could feel the blood had stopped flowing and the sun was beginning to rise. Captain America hadn't slowed down once. But Bucky was curious about what had happened to him as his clothes were coated in mud and dried blood. Bucky's weren't in much better shape and as the sun crested the horizon, he could see the ugly rip through his tac gear that a knife must have made. He was probably lucky his attacker had missed; either that or he should have been died of blood loss about six hours ago.

He didn't bother asking questions. Steve hadn't slowed his pace and it was probably safe to assume whoever had been attacking them was still going to be on the look for them. And as they maneuvered through the streets of New York, they kept to the back alleys and away from the more populated areas. Bucky snagged a ratty old coat from an abandoned shelter on their way through the building. He was still dressed up in his tac gear though he had reluctantly ditched his semi-automatic in a pond on the way to New York and the coat would help disguise him. Captain America didn't need as much help; the mud was more noticeable than the blood and he was already in civvies. As they cut out of the building, Bucky froze, staring at the wall in front of him. Very faintly in front of him were a couple of faded etched marks. The first was a bow and arrow with a plus sign next to an eagle insignia that looked identical to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s and underneath it was a crudely etched star and spider with coordinates.

"Bucky," Steve whispered urgently. "Bucky, we have to go."

But there was something so very familiar about those marks. He wondered what they meant, if he knew them. He set his metal hand next to the wall. The star was identical to the one on his arm. There was no way it referred to him, though. He'd never been to New York before. He didn't like New York; it was too busy, too full of life. His fingers spasmed. How did he know that if he'd never been to New York before? He stepped away from the wall and followed Captain America through the empty back alleys. In the shelter of cardboard boxes and dumpsters, he caught eyes staring back at him. And somehow, even more frightening than the etchings on the wall, was the way he could picture a young man with eyes just as starved as the ones that were staring at him now. It felt like it was raining. He turned his hand over, somehow surprised to see it was dry. But he could… he could _feel_ the rain. He could practically taste it in the air. The blue eyes vanished into darkness, and with them went the suffocating sensation of rain. He was alone in New York with Captain America. He walked a little faster.

Steve led him down to a quaint chapel, out behind it was a small graveyard. A few trees dotted the property, most notably the holly tree standing watch over several graves. Bucky didn't have time to gawk at more of the scenery because Captain America was breaking into a church. He almost wished he had a camera because he was pretty sure this was the kind of thing that superheroes didn't do. But Steve broke the lock with a few tugs on the chain, spreading the doors open to let Bucky inside first.

"I hope you're not planning to marry me again," Bucky muttered as he ducked inside the building.

Steve snorted, shutting the doors behind him. "It'd be a little morbid to do it here. Also, I think we're still legally married."

"Why haven't we gotten divorced yet?"

An uncomfortable expression crossed over Steve's face. "It had something to do with the lawyers wanting to be sure you could fully comprehend what was going on and they were waiting on the doctors' orders. I think they wanted you to be able to remember whatever we-we had, so you could make an informed decision."

"Oh," Bucky said, throwing himself down on a pew. A cloud of dust billowed around him. "So what's the great Captain America doing breaking into a church?"

Steve's eyes narrowed. " _We_ are waiting for friends to get here."

"I didn't know I had any of those," Bucky commented, dragging his tac suit up to get a better look at his wound. "Thought they all wanted me to go on trial."

"Not all of –when did you get hit?" Steve asked worriedly.

"Don't remember," Bucky drawled, examining the knife wound carefully.

It was a shallow slice but it had clotted up nicely. It probably wouldn't get infected or worse if he was mindful of it. Steve looked over his shoulder in concern but seemed relieved when he realized the wound wasn't still bleeding.

"What do you remember?"

Bucky grimaced, pulling the material back down. "Last thing I can recall, I was in S.H.I.E.L.D. medical reading about some wizard or something. I've got nothing after that until you told me to jump out a goddamn window twenty feet high."

Steve didn't even bat an eye at that, like it was a perfectly normal, sane, _safe_ thing to do or some shit. "It's been –you've been missing for a week."

Of course he had been. "And the guys chasing us? They after me or you?"

"Both," Steve replied guardedly.

Bucky arched a brow at that. "What'd you do to piss 'em off and how am I involved?"

Steve's lips twitched, almost into a smile. "You killed someone. And I tried to defend you." He paused.

 _And here comes the stupid question,_ Bucky thought, rolling his eyes. _'You really don't remember anything else?'_ Of course he didn't remember anything else. If he had, he would have said so. If just so people stopped asking the same fucking questions every time.

"You, actually, you killed my boss."

"Did you defend me because you hated him or something?" Bucky asked tiredly, not looking up as he tied his laces. He really wished he could remember killing the people everyone said he had. It might make him feel like less of a psychotic murderer. Every time he woke up, someone was either dead or missing. Or both. And he never knew whether it was his fault or not.

"No," Steve answered tightly. "No, I defended you because you weren't yourself."

"Of course I was myself," Bucky snapped. "Who else was I?"

"You remember doing it?" Steve pressed.

Bucky fixed him with a glare. "That's not the point. It was my body, my trigger finger. I promise you, it was me."

Steve rolled his shoulders, like he was halfway getting ready for a fight, and like he was smugly celebrating being right. Bucky wasn't sure what he found more infuriating. "I'll believe that when you tell me where you shot him."

"I'm a fucking sniper, I can't account for every bullet," he protested.

"Then you're a pretty shitty sniper," Steve shot back.

While true of any sniper who didn't know where their bullets went, Bucky did keep track of his. And on the principle of the matter, he kind of wanted to punch Steve in the face for it. How did they even work as a married couple? Hopefully the answer was that they hadn't, considering Steve had already attempted to file for divorce papers. Goddamn doctors, had to make everything impossible. He wasn't going to get his memories back. He'd made his peace with it. It'd be great if the rest of the world would get the same message through their brains.

"These friends of yours gonna lead us to a hiding place?" Bucky asked.

"Friends of ours. And yeah, they've got a place prepared and everything."

Bucky bit back a sigh. "I don't have friends, Rogers."

Steve bristled. "You used to."

"I ain't the same kid you knew back in the good old days." He got to his feet.

"Doesn't mean people stopped caring about you, Buck."

"Maybe they should have," he fired back.

Steve didn't as much as flinch. "You meant something to us. So we lived our lives remembering you."

Bucky shook his head. "I'm not that person anymore. I don't even _remember_ you."

"That's okay," Steve said gently. "I don't –I'm not here, waiting for you to. I'm here because you're still –you're _somebody_. Maybe you're not the boy I was best friends with. I don't think I'm the kid I was back then either, but, you don't deserve what they've done to you."

"What who's done to me?" he demanded crossly, staring Steve down. Captain America wasn't scary.

Steve leaned back against a pillar. "You didn't decide to kill me on your own. You don't even remember me. You disappeared inside a secure facility under twenty-four seven surveillance only to show up three hours later, having murdered Director Fury."

Bucky shrugged, wandering down the aisle, putting some space between them. "I'm an assassin, Rogers, what'd you expect?"

"Most assassins get paid, as I recall. And they tend to have employers."

Bucky snorted, glancing at Steve over his shoulder. "And what? You think I'm going to turn over my employer that easily?"

"Do you even _know_ who your employer is?" Steve countered. "Because I know Hydra found you, took you, when you were thirteen. I don't know what all they did to you. But I know –I know you were still decent to the kids they made you train. I know because one of them told me. How you did your best to protect her, how you made her a better fighter and how you kept her alive in a place that would have turned her into monster." Steve paused, shifting his feet. "I know you trained the best marksman in the world. You did it without trying to break his spirit. Maybe you remembered some punk ass kid with a stubborn streak a mile wide and you just, you taught him how to survive without breaking apart."

A flash of red as the dancer quietly protested, " _You'll break them."_ Her voice echoed inside his mind. His arm around a slender throat, a woman's heavy accented voice criticizing a performance. Hungry blue eyes staring back at him. Hands shaking as they gripped the hilt of a sword.

"And what did Hydra do for you?" Steve asked quietly, his voice somber and sad, echoing in the dusty chapel. "They stole your memories away, locked you up and sent you out to kill."

" _My project iz complete,"_ _purred the man. "A soulless killing machine."_ _Laughter, hands-shaking, empty faces staring down at him like he was a dream come true._

"Shut up," Bucky hissed, pressing a hand to his head. Some memories –some memories he didn't want. Some memories were better off dead and buried. He could feel the goose bumps ripple down his arms, the chill in the air clinging to his skin. He shrugged his shoulders, pacing down the pews, shoving the memories back.

But it was too late. Steve had pulled on the wrong threads; started unravelling a wall Bucky hadn't even known was there. And no matter what he did, he couldn't put them back in order; he couldn't build his wall back up. The memories didn't come back as memories –they were a jumbled mess of sensations and overwhelming emotions. Fear, fear like he'd never known before clawed its way out of his stomach and dropped him to his knees, left him shaking like he might never breathe again. It was cold and empty and there were faces, so many blank faces staring at him.

It wasn't so bad once. They trained him with every weapon they could give him and he was eager to learn. He wanted to go home too, but that wasn't an option. He could _fight_ , but he couldn't fight like they could. So he learned how to use knives, how to use his fists, how to hit where it hurt. He learned how to kill. The first time he tried to escape, they hosed him down with ice water and told him that his parents had sold him for a pretty penny. He must have had some sense still left, because he didn't believe it. Not for a second. The second time he tried to escape? He killed two guards and made it out of the complex. They caught him the next day, hitching a ride back to New York and they shot out the tires on the truck. The driver didn't die instantly, but Hydra put a hole in his stomach and left Bucky there to watch as the man died. And then they hauled him back through the desert sands, hot sun beating down on his bruised and battered body. They put him under and when he woke up, his arm was gone. They never had to say it. He understood. Escape again and he would lose something else. It got easier to just do what they said.

It was easy, to forget who he was once they held the naming ceremony. They called him the Winter Soldier because he was cold like winter. He killed and he did it well. They sent him all over the world and he killed. Again and again and again. No one even knew he was there. He was a ghost, a nightmare to haunt his targets. He was so good that they decided to give him a break. They let him teach the kids. Sometimes, watching as the scrawny fighters threw their fists, he would remember the family he had chosen to forget. It was easier to kill if there was no one to be disappointed in him. It was easier to forget everything from _before_. And if he never had to see their faces in his nightmares, watching as he put a bullet clean through their skulls, it would be too soon.

Buck came to with a startled gasp, choking as he inhaled a deep breath of air. Steve was kneeling next to him, rubbing his back as he spoke in soft, hushed tones. Like Bucky was some kind of frightened animal. As though _Steve_ wasn't the cause of his current predicament.

"The fuck did you do to me?" he snarled, grabbing Steve by his shirt. He shoved him against the wall. "The fuck did you do?" he rasped, his hands shaking.

"I don't understand," Steve said, and he had to be standing on the tips of his toes to keep breathing.

Bucky put his metal hand around Steve's neck. "I don't remember," he growled. "I never remember. And then you open your mouth and _suddenly_ I remember things?" He pressed in closer to Steve. "What. Did. You. Do."

"Nothing," Steve said, shifting slightly.

Bucky threw his fist towards him and –stopped. Steve wasn't even braced for the hit. He kept his body limp and light. And he didn't even look triumphant about it. He looked apologetic and almost resigned, like this wasn't what he wanted at all. Bucky let go of him, stepping back in disgust. He turned away and stalked over to the farthest corner he could get from the superhero before he slammed his fist against the wall. The building gave a shudder and a cloud of dust fell from the rafters, but nothing else moved. Bucky dropped to the floor, pulling his knees against his chest as he pulled out a knife.

"Just stay the fuck away from me," he growled when he saw Steve look in his direction.

He could remember those weeks he spent clueless in the S.H.I.E.L.D. infirmary and he wished he was back there. It wasn't like he magically knew everything; it wasn't like he remembered his parents. He could remember their sepia colored faces from the picture Rebecca had shown him. He could remember having nightmares where Hydra sent him home and he murdered his parents. He was a dumb fifteen year old kid, terrified for his family. He shouldn't have been. He should have been terrified for himself. He stared down at his fingers, rolling the blade across his knuckles. He could remember a lot of useless things about what he'd done. Murders, framed break-ins to pit rival companies against each other, basic espionage that a child could do. But he couldn't remember how old he was now. There were decade long gaps in his memories. He couldn't remember anything about his childhood. He couldn't remember the names or the faces of those two kids Steve insisted he had saved. He peered over at Steve to find the other man had sat down on a pew and had his head ducked. Either in prayer or in exhaustion. Even super-soldiers had to sleep.

Bucky turned away uneasily. The sooner he could get away from Steve, the better. Maybe it was good he'd been forced to deal with a handful of memories from his adolescence. He would stop pushing, stop trying to remember. There weren't good memories to be found. Whatever he'd been doing in the years since he was a dumb fifteen year old kid, were only going to get worse. He didn't need to remember who he had killed or why he killed them. He was an assassin. He was a soldier –he was _the_ Soldier. He tightened his hold on his knife, chipping away at the wall beside him. He didn't want to know why he had tried to kill Steve. The answers he found weren't going to be rational, logical things if the memories ever came with them. He wished he could go back to that hospital bed. He wished he could forget and be a blank slate again. It would be better than knowing. He caught a glint of light off the metal on his arm and he felt his stomach heave. Unsurprisingly, nothing came up but bile and a little water. Steve remained in his pew, hands clenched on his pants, probably trying to pretend he hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary.

Of the memories that had come back that was the one he wished he didn't have.

"These friends of mine, or ours, whatever, when are they supposed to show up?"

"As soon as they can," Steve replied softly. "They're probably under some surveillance right now."

Bucky snorted. "Let me guess, just in case I show up there?"

"Yeah," Steve answered tiredly. "They –S.H.I.E.L.D.'s in crisis right now. They want to put you on trial."

Bucky twirled the knife in his hands. "You ever think maybe they should?"

"No," Steve replied adamantly. "Not for a second."

"I killed a lot of people." He didn't need memories to know that.

"You were a kid –they would have brain washed you, made you believe anything they wanted."

"Doesn't make it less my fault."

"I'm not going to let you go to jail –or worse –for this!"

Bucky sheathed his knife with a sigh. If he was locked up in jail, at least he couldn't hurt anyone else. Not anyone who didn't deserve it. And if they executed him? Well, at least he wouldn't hurt anyone again. He'd spent most of his life being someone else's tool. It'd be nice if he could spend the rest of it free. And to be really free, he'd have to be free in the laws eyes. There was no one better to decide that for him than the law. He was just unlucky enough to have Captain America as a childhood friend with a bone to pick with authority figures. But he also wasn't sure that he was ready to walk out those doors and hand himself over either. Hydra could easily interfere. They had their fingers everywhere. And there was a chance that they could snatch him up before he was delivered in front of a court room. He was too valuable an asset for them to let him go without a fight.

Which led to an important question. Even at fourteen years old, he was valuable enough for Hydra to send out a team to collect him. He'd been working for them for a lot longer since then. He was a much more valuable resource now. So what were they doing? If everyone was chasing after him because he had killed Fury, why hadn't Hydra recalled him yet? What were they doing letting him roam the streets, being hunted down like a dog? Maybe they wanted the authorities to catch him first, make it easier on them to track him down. But that didn't add up either. He would have gone back to them, when he didn't remember anything. He probably wouldn't have known any better, anything different. In which case, they had to know. They had to know he was out on his own. And it didn't look like they were trying to collect him. Not that he wasn't grateful, but why?


	6. Hey Brother

The chapel doors creaked open and Bucky turned, knife out as the intruder walked in. Steve breathed a sigh of relief, sitting up as he waved the woman over. Her hands were shaking as she walked closer, the bright flashlight trembling with her movements. Bucky huffed out a breath, sheathing his knife as Rebecca stepped into the light. Of course Steve recognized her right away, seeing as how they were childhood friends and all. He watched, coiled in the shadows, as she and Steve exchanged a brief hug. She pulled back, turning away, her face falling in confusion as she searched for him. Reluctantly, Bucky stepped forward, letting her flashlight reflect off the metal of his arm. Bucky stepped out until he was within four paces from Rogers. It was the closest he'd been to the man since their argument earlier. He glanced at Rebecca, even less impressed by Rogers than he had been before. Bringing in civilians? Were they that desperate –really? Surely Captain America could do better than that.

"Sorry it took so long," Rebecca said. "They've got blockades everywhere."

"I hate to put you in this position," Steve said, his arms crossed over his big, stupid chest.

"You know it's not a problem," Rebecca said softly, glancing towards Bucky. "It really isn't."

"Are you going to be able to get us in?" Bucky asked.

"Yeah, of course. Dan's got the car ready and everything." Dan? Why did everyone like to mention all these people like Bucky had been there to meet them before? "Dan's my husband," Rebecca added, her bright blue eyes on him.

"How'd you get out of the city?" Steve uncrossed his arms, his brows furrowed worriedly.

"I told them I was picking up my brother and his husband," Rebecca answered, smiling at Bucky apologetically.

"Close enough to the truth, right?" Bucky gave a humorless laugh.

Steve turned to Rebecca, his expression unguarded and clearly shocked. Rebecca winced and gave a half-shrug. Bucky arched a brow, wondering what the two of them were talking about. Apparently even though they were childhood friends, they must have kept in close contact to be able to communicate so completely without even speaking. A detached part of himself wondered how different his life would be if he'd never been taken by Hydra. He wondered how different their lives would be, if he'd been around. But that was a question no one had the answer to because it simply hadn't happened. Steve and Rebecca were able to live with rose-colored glasses and see the good things in the world. Maybe if he'd been able to grow up with them, he would have been able to look at the world so optimistically. As it was, there was no way the cops weren't going to have questions for them. Their first one would be to ask about Bucky's arm and after that, they'd all be hauled away for questioning.

"Dan's waiting in the car," Rebecca repeated, a little shakily. "We should go. He has a jacket that should –it should fit you, Bucky."

Bucky shrugged and followed her and Steve out of the chapel. Rebecca opened the back door of the SUV and reached in, pulling out a black leather jacket which she handed to Bucky. She paused, looking Steve over.

"We don't have anything that will fit you, you're so gigantic now, but you look suspicious in that, Steve."

"It's a button-up," Steve said incredulously, but he was already undoing it.

"If he's shirtless, he'll be a lot more noticeable!" laughed the driver –Dan.

Rebecca rolled her eyes at Bucky, like he was in on some kind of joke. "He's wearing a t-shirt under it, loser," she called affectionately. "And yes, Steve, it's a button-up covered in mud and blood. With a t-shirt underneath."

"Who even does that?" Dan laughed.

Steve sighed, folding the shirt up and tossing it towards a dumpster. Unsurprisingly, he landed the throw. The plain t-shirt he was in was a lot cleaner. And somehow, it was more form-fitting than the button-up had been. "It gets cold at night," he pointed out, climbing into the backseat.

Rebecca smiled softly at Bucky before she got into the passenger seat. Bucky awkwardly followed Steve's lead, fitting in beside him. Ordinarily it was probably a spacious vehicle. But Dan was lanky compared to Steve's broad-shoulders and adding Bucky in, the SUV felt more like it had two football players sitting in the back. Between Steve's shoulders and his arms, Bucky was forced to sit with his metal arm pressed right against Steve's. It made for a long, uncomfortable ride. Dan seemed to be the only one with a good mood as he would frequently glance in the rear view mirror and crack a grin at them. Bucky was absolutely certain that it was directed at them. Rebecca kept her eyes averted, as she watched out the passenger window. They reached the first blockade shortly thereafter and were subjected to police officers shining their lights in on them. Bucky grimaced and shielded his eyes with his flesh hand while Steve lifted his hand in a polite greeting. They were waved on. Dan drove them through the city, most of which seemed barren of traffic. The blockades had to be holding up most of the traffic elsewhere, then. Dan drove them smoothly through to a residential area and parked in front of a towering apartment building.

"We have a spare bedroom and a fold-out couch," Rebecca said as she got out.

"I know it's not a four star hotel or anything, but it's home," Dan said, unlocking the main door and letting the three of them trail inside.

"Thank you for letting us stay," Steve said, smiling at them gratefully.

Crowding into the elevator was going to be as much fun as the car ride. Bucky didn't even bother stepping inside. "See you on the eighth floor," he said, and made his own way to their apartment.

Rebecca had the door propped open, leaning against it as she waited for him by the time he made it to her floor. She gestured him inside and shut the door behind her. Dan was pulling the couch down into a bed while Steve was apparently on petsitting duty as he had an armful of cat.

"Have you guys eaten yet?" Rebecca asked. "I know it's probably been a long day…"

"No, no we haven't," Steve said, glancing towards Bucky.

"You can shower, if you'd like," Rebecca added, like she'd just remembered it was something they might want to do. She gestured down the hallway.

"Bucky got a cut, is your first-aid in the bathroom too?"

Rebecca's eyes widened in alarm and Bucky wondered just how often she was around injured people. "I'm not _dyin'_ right this minute, Steve," Bucky drawled, watching in satisfaction as Rebecca's shoulders relaxed. And then he frowned again afterwards, wondering why he cared so much. Why it mattered so much for Rebecca to be as calm and happy as possible. He didn't even know her.

"Yes, it-it's in the medicine cabinet, behind the sink," Rebecca said, plucking her cat from Steve's grip. It was a big, furry animal and gave a low mewl of protest before burrowing into Rebecca's arms.

Steve gave a brisk nod and headed into the bathroom. Rebecca glanced once more at Bucky and then her husband before she walked into the kitchen. Bucky hesitated where he was until he saw her starting to clear the table off. Bucky made his way over to her, avoiding Dan as he struggled with the bed. He removed Dan's leather jacket, absently hoping the guy didn't wear it because it would never fit his shoulders. Under the bright kitchen light he could see the slash he'd managed to pick up somewhere before he'd joined up with Steve.

"Try not to get blood everywhere," Rebecca cautioned as she moved into the kitchen, pulling ingredients out. "Dan, switch out?"

"Oh thank god," Dan muttered, bustling into the kitchen as Rebecca went into the living room.

Bucky watched them curiously even as Steve set the first-aid kit on the table. What an odd thing to say. But it was fascinating to watch as Dan seemed to pick up right where Rebecca had left off from. Meanwhile in the living room, Rebecca effortlessly pulled the bed out and went to retrieve blankets. By the time dinner –or breakfast, as it was eggs and bacon was ready –both beds were fully made and Steve had satisfied himself patching Bucky's side up. The wound wasn't that bad and it was located on his side, where it would have been difficult for him to manage it on his own or he would have refused Steve's help. He was a little curious as to what would have happened if he had tried to fight Steve about whether or not Steve should patch him up. But, intentional or not, Bucky could see everything Steve was doing which made it marginally better.

"I'll take the couch," Bucky said, when he'd finished eating. Unlike Steve, he was armed with sweatpants of Dan's. And if he had any nightmares, he might not wake anyone up. He wrapped his hand around one the knives he'd taken with him, wondering when nightmares had suddenly become a problem. He couldn't remember having any, which _was_ a problem on his own.

Steve didn't fight him on it, instead headed to the guest bedroom. Rebecca hovered for a few moments, obviously exhausted before murmuring a goodnight and going to her own room, her husband following after her. Bucky laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling uneasily as he waited for sleep to come to him. He woke up with a start, what felt like minutes later, breathing hard, his fleshy hand gripping his knife. The sudden _meow_ startled him and he nearly leapt off the couch before he registered the cat sitting on his feet, digging her claws into the blankets around his feet.

"Fuck," Bucky muttered, dropping the knife. He fell back against the bed, his heavy breathing echoing in the silence of the apartment.

He spared a moment to be grateful that he hadn't killed the cat before trying to remember what had woken him up. There was nothing he could remember. Just a horrible, pervasive feeling that something was terribly, terribly wrong. And once he'd recognized that, it was like an itch that wouldn't rest. He glanced at the digital clock, its fine blue lettering haunting in the darkness. Five in the morning. He'd slept for a grand total of two hours. He blew out a breath and eased out of bed. He wandered around restlessly and found himself washing dishes quietly. There weren't many. When that was done, he remade his bed and sat down, staring at the TV. The cat hopped up beside him, watching him before giving a flick of her tail and butting her head against his hand. He stayed awake, petting the cat and watching as the sun rose. It was around that time that Captain America stumbled out, jeans and his t-shirt back on, yawning.

"How long are we going to be hiding here?" Bucky asked bluntly. "Because this isn't as secret as I would have expected. Or as fortified."

Steve startled –and wow, he was startled that easily? How had he survived against Bucky in a fight? It was either luck or some kind of miracle. If there was a higher power out there, Bucky wasn't surprised in the least that guys like Steve got second chances.

"Just for a few days," Steve said quietly. "Just until things calm down a little."

"And after that?"

Steve sighed. "After that, we'll figure it out."

Bucky paused, fingers drumming against the couch. "I don't like putting innocent people at risk."

Steve stiffened. "Neither do I," he replied testily.

"Then what are we doing here?" Bucky countered. "I don't know what her background is, but it is not combat. Same with her husband. We shouldn't even be here."

"I know," Steve replied tiredly. "But, we needed somewhere to go and there aren't a lot of other places we could go. At least not yesterday. We'll be able to get to them from here, once S.H.I.E.L.D. isn't watching them."

"Who are we hiding from, exactly? And why?" Why was Steve hiding from them too? He understood that out of some misguided sense of loyalty Steve was trying to keep him safe, but that didn't mean Steve was stuck here too.

Steve walked over, settling into an armchair. "We're hiding from S.H.I.E.L.D. and a host of other government organizations," he said softly, glancing towards Rebecca and Dan's room like he was afraid the couple would be up before sunrise. He turned back to Bucky. "After you killed Director Fury, there wasn't anyone who wanted to protect you. Someone leaked your suspected assassination list." Steve curled his hands into fists. "They thought I might know where you were, where you would go, because we'd been…" He gestured vaguely but Bucky wondered why he didn't just say the word aloud. _Married._ "They want to put you on trial."

"And you don't want me to go on trial."

"No, because they're looking to scapegoat someone. And there's something weird going on with S.H.I.E.L.D."

"I murdered those people. Maybe I don't remember them, or why I did it, but I know I did it."

Steve sighed, looking down at his hands. "If you don't remember any of them, is there _any_ harm in hiding here for a little longer? If you –if you remember something about them, I-I'll take you to the police or to S.H.I.E.L.D. myself."

"You promise?"

Steve jerked up, staring at him. "Yeah," he replied faintly. "I promise."

"They could discharge you for this. They could do a lot of things to you for this."

"I know."

Bucky snorted. "You're willing to throw it all away on a guy you haven't seen in eighteen years?" He scoffed. "You must be an idiot." Even if Steve was still in love with him, whoever he had been during those six months, it still made him an idiot.

Steve bristled. "Or maybe who you used to be just meant that much to me."

Bucky shrugged, leaning back against the couch. "How could some adolescent kid mean that much to you?"

Steve's body slowly relaxed, but he kept his gaze lowered. Away from Bucky's. "I was a sick kid. And you, Bucky, were my first friend. I didn't get to make more. You were the be-all, end-all of my friendships. You always looked after me. If I was sick, if I went out and picked a fight, you were picking the fight right alongside me. Or cleaning up after I'd lost." Steve's lips twitched into a sad smile. "I don't think I won many. You'd fix me up after every fight, though. And you started to teach me how to defend myself. It didn't help much, really, I was too… I was too asthmatic for that to do me much good, but I was determined. And you never asked me to stop trying, though I'm sure you wanted to.

"Until I was sixteen, anytime someone talked about heroes, I'd think of you. Because that's who you were to me. You saved me all the time. Even from myself. I –there was this one time, I was so sick I could hardly move, but I'd decided I was going to go outside and you'd always manage to charm me around into staying in bed." Steve paused at that, a heavy kind of silence as though he was preparing to deliver bad news. "I probably would have tried on my own, I think, and I might have died. But I was too stubborn to see that then. So you'd crawl into bed next to me, do homework and chide me for not doing any myself. Or you'd ask to see my sketches and make me draw you. You used to say it was only fair, since you were stuck hanging inside with me." Steve smiled softly at that memory. "You never meant it. You were happy, almost, stuck inside with sick little me."

"What about your parents?" Bucky felt compelled to ask.

"My dad died before I was born. And my mom, you knew her, she absolutely adored you. She thought you were the best influence on me –and you probably were." Steve smiled slightly. "She worked a lot, had to really, for all my medications and for us to make rent. We weren't very wealthy, but we made do. She died when I was twelve. Pneumonia. You came to the funeral, followed me home too. Told me I didn't need to go off and change," at that, Steve gestured at his body and Bucky wondered how different Steve had been as a kid, "that I was fine just the way I was." The way he said those words, it was almost like they meant a lot to him. Like maybe it was the most important thing anyone had ever said to him before.

"What was wrong with you, that you had to change?"

Steve smiled wryly. "If I listed everything, we'd be here for hours. I had asthma, heart palpitations, astigmatism, color blindness, blood pressure problems, you name it and I either had it or I'd survived it. Whooping cough almost killed me, so did every yearly flu crisis. I was sick. But you made me feel like I was a normal kid, like girls might suddenly develop an interest in a boy a foot shorter than them." Steve paused after a long moment. "Maybe I didn't have to change, but I thought if I didn't, I'd for sure end up dead. And I'd never be able to do the things I wanted. Maybe I didn't want to go skydiving, but I never could have tried before either." He shrugged lightly.

Bucky didn't say anything for a moment, trying to picture or remember a Steve Rogers who was a sickly child. Nothing came to mind. Steve must have thought he was done asking questions, as he got to his feet.

"Earlier, earlier you said you thought…" He couldn't think of the boy Steve described as being him, despite the fact that it probably had been him. "You thought he was your hero?"

"When I was sixteen," Steve stopped, sighing softly. "When I was sixteen, I hadn't heard from you in four years. I thought maybe… maybe you hadn't been interested in being my friend after all. That you were glad to be done with me." He looked away, towards the window. "I didn't know you'd been missing for over four years."

Bucky winced on his behalf. "If we'd been friends for so long, why didn't you know?"

"I was in the military. I was becoming… something more than what I'd been. My commanding officer made the decision for me, to not tell me. I found out the truth when I was eighteen."

Bucky hummed thoughtfully. "You still think of me as your hero Rogers?"

"More than ever, Buck, more than ever," Steve said, walking into the kitchen.

Bucky stared after him for a long moment, wondering what Steve thought he saw in an assassin like him. Because there wasn't a whole lot of good he'd done in his life. There was a lot more blood. And the blood on his hands wasn't even the worst of what he'd done, that much he knew for sure. But wherever those memories were, he hoped they stayed locked up. Because he didn't need to remember to know that he was a rotten person. It had still been touching to hear Rogers remember who he was as a kid, but he'd been raised to be a killer. Honed and sharpened like a sword until he was the most deadly blade they had in their arsenal. He was the best assassin they'd ever made.

After their early morning breakfast, Bucky must have dozed off at some point. Because when he woke up next, Steve and Rebecca were in the kitchen having a hushed conversation. But he was curious, so he kept quiet.

"Why doesn't he know?" Steve whispered.

Rebecca sighed, "The doctors. Okay? They said it would be better for him to remember on his own."

"Who does he think you are?"

A cupboard door shut, almost too-loudly in the stillness of the apartment. The coffee machine started to bubble away before Rebecca answered. "He thinks we're childhood friends. And we all were. It's not totally a lie."

"They had _no_ right to make you go through that, he should know."

"Steve, they're his doctors. Their job is to do what's right for him. I don't care if he doesn't know. It won't be a secret forever."

"I just don't think it's what's best for either of you," Steve said, but he didn't sound like he was going to keep talking about it either.

"I wish I could just tell him but I don't… I don't want to risk doing anything wrong."

The silence stretched between them for long enough that Bucky was contemplating faking waking up. He didn't want them to know that he'd been listening in, because otherwise they might be more guarded in the future. And he was desperate to learn what he could about himself. So if Rebecca _wasn't_ his childhood friend, then who was she?

"We got into a fight before you picked us up from the chapel," Steve said. Another cupboard creaked open, and then the fridge swung open. "I told him about what we know."

"Steve!" Rebecca hissed. "I told you, we can't talk about that with him. He's in –he's in a fragile state –"

"Becca, Becca," Steve said patiently. "I know. But he. He remembered something. I don't know what, but I know he remembered something."

A dish clattered against the counter. "He what?" She sounded aghast.

"He remembered. Maybe not all on his own, but he handled it. A minor panic attack and he blamed me, lashed out but he still… I don't trust what the doctors have been saying. I don't trust S.H.I.E.L.D."

Bucky fought to stay still, to keep his breaths deep and even but he wanted nothing more than to sit up and demand Steve Rogers explain to him what the doctors had been saying. He also wanted to beg both of them to never try and induce memories onto him the way Steve had earlier. Some memories were better off forgotten. Although, maybe if Rebecca told him the truth, maybe he could remember his family. They'd been childhood friends and if she kept to those memories, maybe that would help him understand what Steve had been talking about earlier that morning. Though, he wasn't sure if he was ready to deal with those memories. He wasn't that kid anymore and he wasn't sure if he'd ever been the boy Steve had described, but reconciling who he was now with who he'd been then didn't seem like an easy task. But mostly, if the doctors had been telling them not to do it, he really wanted them to try it. His doctors' didn't get to decide his past and future.

Rebecca set something down rather forcefully and the fridge door shut. "You want me to tell him the truth and just hope for the best?"

"What's the harm?" Steve asked. "He could remember you, or he won't."

Rebecca inhaled softly. "Did the memories… did they hurt him?"

"No, I don't think so."

They had though. In ways Steve hadn't been able to see. The way only horrifying memories could. With claws and barbs prying into his skin and breaking him apart, a little at a time, letting him remember why he had let go of himself so easily. Why he'd allowed himself to forget his past. But now, now he did want to remember it. He wanted to remember who he was so he could remember his parents, his sister. Bucky allowed his arm to touch the floor, groaning as he sat up, ignoring the cat's yowl of protest when he moved.

"Hey, you're up," Rebecca said softly, peering over at him.

She offered him a kind smile, her electric blue eyes warm and gentle. With her dark hair loose around her shoulders, more wavy than straight, she seemed awfully familiar. But there was nothing. He couldn't picture her younger, he couldn't remember anything about why she seemed so familiar. It was like remembering her was on the tip of his tongue, but try as he might, nothing came to mind. He had no answer for who she was to him.

"What is it?" she asked, sounding almost worried as she tucked a strand of hair away from her face.

Bucky spent a moment struggling with the words before forcing them out. "You seem familiar."

Rebecca's face fell and she glanced over her shoulder, where Steve was standing in the kitchen. He wondered if she was going to tell him the truth. She turned her attention back to him, smiling almost sadly. "Your doctors wanted you to remember on your own."

"With a lot of things," Bucky pointed out. "And I told them it wouldn't happen but they were determined to do things their own way. Why? Who are you?"

"I'm Rebecca Proctor," she said haltingly. "But Proctor is my married name. My maiden name is Barnes." She paused. "I'm your sister."

Bucky curled his hands into fists. "They didn't have a right to keep that from me," he breathed out, alarmed by how unsteady his voice was.

He'd thought –well, he wasn't sure what he'd thought. But the fact that his sister hadn't been by to see him had been distressing. He was a murderer and maybe she hadn't wanted to be related to someone like him.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, and then she was crying. "I'm so sorry. I've been waiting for you to c-come home for so long. I didn't know what to do!"

And without thinking about it, he found himself reaching out to pull her into a hug, rubbing her back soothingly. When he glanced towards the kitchen, he found Steve was long gone.

"I'm not mad at you," Bucky said, because it seemed like the right thing to say.

Knowing she was his sister didn't make his memories magically start working again, but it helped him make sense of why he cared so much for this woman. Some part of him, the part where all his memories were hopefully hiding, must have recognized her. He wasn't sure if he was happy or not that the memories hadn't flooded through him like last night. But Rebecca didn't seem disappointed and when Steve and Dan both shuffled into the kitchen, it wasn't so bad either.

The nightmares got worse, more visceral. Bucky slept in fits and starts, usually only when Rebecca's cat Hawkins showed up. Bucky adamantly refused to use the cat's first name –and really, Rebecca and Dan had actually given the thing a first name (it was Jim) –but Hawkins helped him sleep better. He couldn't say why and he refused to consider it very deeply. Steve was going stir crazy, restlessly pacing through most of the day, watching the news at night. Rebecca was a police officer so she wasn't home often and Dan was a school teacher. He was also the better cook out of the four of them, which was somehow startling. Bucky couldn't remember ever cooking so he tended to crowd Dan in the kitchen and watch what he was doing. Steve would take that time to catch up on the news, to watch how the world was starting to turn against their golden hero.

"I don't care what his reasons are, Steve Rogers needs to turn himself in and explain what's going on!" shouted one reporter. "Police reported seeing him and this Barnes jump out a window twenty feet high and disappear into the night. No bodies have been recovered so we suspect Captain Rogers is in hiding with the fugitive Barnes."

Bucky leaned against the kitchen wall, glancing at the screen where they had a picture of him pasted in the right hand corner. He was hunched over and scowling, his eyes empty and blank, and he flinched back in alarm at the picture. The picture itself was nearly incriminating, he looked terrifying.

"None of the other Avengers have been available for comment but I've just got word that Tony Stark has been spotted leaving his tower and we have a reporter on scene. What's going on over there, Bridget?"

The screen changed to one in front of the Avengers Tower where Tony Stark was strutting out of the building, a pair of expensive sunglasses on his face. He didn't appear bothered by the paparazzi flashing their cameras at him. At his side, his fingers tapped impatiently. If not for the odd pattern, Bucky would have ignored it entirely. Five fingers tapped, five fingers tapped, then four. Odd. Stark seemed almost distracted by the reporter shouting at him. Two fingers tapped his side. Stark looked towards the reporter who was shoving her way through the crowd. Two five finger taps. Who tapped their fingers like that? It was more like he was worried about something in his pocket and just kept obsessively patting it to make sure it was there.

"Mr. Stark! Mr. Stark what is your stance on the Captain America situation?!" shouted one reporter, shoving her recorder towards Stark.

Tony surveyed the crew and snatched the recorder from her hand. His fingers brushed over the recorder so quickly Bucky almost didn't catch the one-two-three finger tap he did. "I believe Captain Rogers has been taken advantage of by the fugitive James Barnes. I'm worried for my friend and team mate and what this means for the future of America." He held his hand up, one finger up as to prevent the crowd from cheering. "I think we should all be thinking about Captain Rogers and hoping he manages to escape from this deadly assassin alive." Tony shifted, waving the camera over, all five fingers on display then switching it to four when the camera was close enough for his liking. "I have three things I want everyone to do tonight," at that he held up three fingers. "Hope Captain Rogers' comes out of this alive, find it in yourselves to forgive a lonely man who thought he found a friend in a criminal and keep a sharp eye out for them." He waved the camera away and Bucky was sure there _was_ a pattern. Three five fingered waves, then one four fingered wave.

"How do you feel about Captain Rogers keeping all this secret from you? After all, we know James Barnes has been accused of assassinating your parents."

On screen, Tony stiffened and pulled his sunglasses off. "I believe Captain Rogers is not currently in a good mindset. I'm just worried about my friend," he repeated. He idly twisted his wrist, the glasses following his leisurely movement; he tried to roll his glasses across four fingers which obviously didn't work. He made an offended noise, grabbing for them, five fingers displayed.

Steve made noise of disgust and reached to shut the program off.

"Do you have anything you'd like to say to Captain America?" asked the reporter and Steve hesitated before Bucky reached over and grabbed the remote from his hands. He pulled an open notebook over, going over the numbers in his head as he watched the screen.

Tony held up his hand, one finger displayed as he pulled his glasses back on, four fingers flashing as he pushed it back into place. "I do, actually. I have a lot to say to Captain Rogers. I prepared it ahead of time." He pulled out a piece of paper, five finger splayed across the back of it. At his left side, he kept his thumb tucked into his palm, five fingers pointing down. A two flashed on his downturned fist. The two quickly changed to one, then three while he adjusted his hold on the paper, four fingers spread across the back, thumb hidden on the other side.

"If you're out there, listening to this, Rogers I want you to know I have your shield. It is kind of defective, so I fixed it up for you. Something must have happened when you ran into those Hydra goons. Don't worry about me. I trust you'll come to your senses. Or the police will find you, which might be what needs to happen. Agent Barton has been helping me make sure everything is ready for you at S.H.I.E.L.D. They don't want to arrest you unless it is absolutely necessary. So stay safe, watch your back and don't let Barnes add you to his list." Tony stretched at this. "Also while we're talking about me, I thought this would be the perfect time to announce that Bruce and I are planning on taking our honeymoon in the Bahamas! I hear it is the best Caribbean location. Even if it is missing some amenities. They tell me I'll be great for the economy. I mean, I have enough money. But I had to tell them that decision was up to Pepper. Tower security is my best asset and I'm going to be absolutely heartbroken about leaving it behind, but I mean we all need some good news. It's not like I'm going somewhere unsafe and dangerous."

The newscast cut out there as Steve shut the television off, glancing at Bucky in something like alarm.

"You're a terrible spy," Bucky remarked irritated, pulling the news back up.

Five minutes later and they were repeating the broadcast. It wasn't easy to listen to Tony's speech, directed at Steve and pick out the correct word. Morse code probably would have been easier, but most people didn't know it. Maybe Stark'd been betting that Steve wasn't familiar and went for something a little flashier. Lucky for him Bucky had been there or Steve might not have realized in time what was happening. When he was done filling the pieces in according the number sequence Tony had left behind, the messages seemed pretty damning.

 _S.H.I.E.L.D. is Hydra. Don't trust police. Agent is safe. Bruce is missing. They have Pepper. Tower unsafe._

Steve sucked in a sharp breath when he saw the message. "Leave it to Tony to pass on a message through a rambling speech," he sighed. "Was it the fingers?"

"You did notice," Bucky said, surprised.

"I thought it was just him being… eccentric."

"Probably why he knew he could get away with it."

"How did you know it matched up with that section of speech?" Steve actually sounded impressed.

"Because it was addressed to you." How was it not obvious?

"S.H.I.E.L.D. –Hydra wouldn't notice would they?"

"Unless they ordered him to make the announcement, I don't think so," Bucky said thoughtfully.

"How did you recognize it?"

Bucky shifted, hating the way the plates in his arm adjusted so audibly. "I'd rather not talk about it." Partly because he couldn't remember, but mostly because he knew that it had to do with how he was trained. Whatever information Hydra had left him with.

"Okay," Steve said softly, getting to his feet. "I should probably make a couple of calls."

Bucky folded his arms and watched as Steve walked away, picked up the phone and dialled. Whoever he talked to, the conversation didn't last more than a minute. Steve snorted to himself. "Of course she'd already figured it out," he murmured.

"Girlfriend?" Bucky couldn't help asking.

Steve shot him an unimpressed glare. "I'm still legally married. And no, that was Black Widow."

Bucky's eyes widened as a series of memories slammed into him. He was distantly aware that he had fallen of the couch/bed and was clutching his head in pain as the memories pummeled him. It felt like he was at sea and the tidal waves kept rolling over him, dragging him down, down, down.

Girls in black leotards, standing on their tip toes, faces carefully blank. They lived, breathed and move in sync. Not a single one of them was out of time with the other. Those who had been, who hadn't been able to keep up, had been discarded. They weren't Hydra, but they weren't dissimilar either. As a gesture of good faith they had loaned the Winter Soldier out for training purposes. He stood next to the woman, watching the girls pirouette, wondering if the dancing was supposed to save their life or something else entirely. The youngest of the bunch had bright red hair, like blood, pinned back from her face and there was fire in her eyes. Bucky was sure that it would never matter what the Red Room did here, to her, that the little girl with burning green eyes would not break.

He didn't have to speak. He pointed to the redhead and the blonde next to her before walking from the room. He didn't understand what the point of the dance was, when it was not necessary to what they were going to have to do. Killing didn't involve dancing. He was unsurprised to find the children had followed after him. He wondered how old they were and decided it didn't matter. He found them blades big enough for them to hold and let them attack. The redhead was faster. He trained her in martial arts and shooting; despite her speed with the knives, the Red Room wanted the blonde to learn that skill. It was the redhead who reminded him of someone, for all her skill and talent, she was just a child. A little girl. He taught her how to cover her tracks when she prepared for her first mission.

He couldn't remember the last time that he had willingly spoken. But he knew he wanted the redhead to understand. Before she went on her mission. It was vitally important. Long ago the Red Room had stopped keeping an eye on him. He was just the asset, on loan, as cold and quiet as winter, like the name he now bore.

"You are not like them," he said, voice low and hoarse from disuse. It had been nearly six months since he'd been on an official mission requiring him to speak. "Hold onto that. And one day, you'll see a chance. You can take it. You don't have to be like them. You're more."

"I'm not going to die," she replied primly. "I am going to America to become _better._ "

Bucky smiled faintly. "You are. And you'll be the best undercover agent anyone could have asked for. But it's important you know that you don't have to do this forever. One day you'll be ready, you'll see a chance. Promise me you'll take it."

She frowned at him. "Only if you promise too," she whispered, like it was a secret, a smile tugging at her lips.

She didn't smile very often and it was a relief to see she still knew how to genuinely do so. Bucky nodded his head slowly, jerkily. "I'll see you when you get back."

"I'll be in New York," she said, clearly delighted. "And when I come back, they promised they'd let you have some of the medicine too."

Bucky blinked in surprise and the rest of her words disappeared in the abyss of his forgotten memories. He groaned in pain, clutching at his head.

"Goddammit Steve," he hissed, jerking away from the other man's grip. "Just stop talking."

"I'm sorry," Steve said, and he sounded infuriatingly genuine. "I just wanted to answer your question."

"Some memories, some memories I don't fuckin' need to be reminded of." Those ones hadn't been so bad. But it felt like there was more he did need to know. The medicine. Something about that was incredibly important. "Tell me about your Black Widow."

"You knew her, once."

"Tell me something I don't fuckin' know, Rogers," Bucky snapped, massaging his temples. He had a pounding headache.

Steve exhaled disapprovingly. "Her name is Natasha but she used to go by Natalie or Natalia," he said hesitantly. "She was in Project Rebirth with me. Not for very long."

"That's the thing," Bucky said, turning to look at Steve. "Project Rebirth."

Steve fidgeted. "What about it?"

"What was it _for_?"

Steve crossed his arms uneasily, stepping back from Bucky. "To –the goal was to make a super-soldier. Someone exactly like me. Take an Omega, make them into an Alpha. Take a sick, scrawny guy and make him a muscle bound six foot two fighter. They wanted a soldier exactly like me but it had adverse effects on a lot of people. Someone who stays in peak fighting condition as long as possible. I haven't aged much since I hit twenty-five and I know it's the same with Natasha."

"Natalia? What happened to her?"

Steve frowned, obviously uneasy with this line of questioning. "There was a Hydra agent in the facility. At least that's who we figured he was. He came in to see the progress on the students. Dr. Erskine, the man who created the formulas to transform us, had kept a vial aside in case the project was a success. When the Hydra agent struck to take the vial, Natasha broke free and left with him. I pursued and I caught him, but Natasha had disappeared with the vial. As far as I know, she returned to Russia with the vial." Steve glanced at Bucky. "She wasn't a failed experiment like some of the others. She got boosts in her immunity system, harder to get sick but not impossible. She can move faster, think faster, has some enhanced strength. Her orientation didn't change."

Bucky sagged back against the couch and held a hand towards Steve just before the memories assaulted him once again.

He was flat on his back, pinned down, both arms restrained. There were doctors –scientists –hovering around. It wasn't Hydra. It was Red Room operatives but Hydra had to know –Hydra always knew. They spoke to each other in languages he didn't recognize and he knew Russian, German, French, Hungarian but this one he didn't know. He didn't know what they were saying but they weren't saying it to him. And in their hand, they had a vial full of blue liquid and he didn't know what it could do –what it might do and he was _terrified_. He couldn't move. He squirmed but they only shouted at him in Russian, ordering him to stay still or it would hurt worse. And he didn't know what to do. With wide eyes, he could only watch on as they injected the liquid into him. And then there was pain like he hadn't ever know and he was screaming against the mouth guard, struggling until he didn't have anything left to fight with. It seemed to stretch on for an eternity. The doctors and scientists were gone and he was alone, stretched out on a gurney, staring up at bright fluorescent lights.

He wondered what he'd done wrong.

* * *

A/N: Dear beloved commenter who has commented every chapter with thoughtful and detailed comments, you are the sole savior of this chapter having been written and seen to the end as I nearly quit due to some frustrations, but your comment gave me the encouragement that I really needed to push through this chapter. So thank you.


	7. Centuries

They never told him what it was that they'd done. He didn't need to know. But he felt empty, disconnected. The fear hovered in his chest, right over his heart and he waited until they came in and freed him before he attacked. It wasn't the first time he ever retaliated but it was the first in a long time. It was easy. Scientists were there for science, not to fight. He snapped the first man's neck and by then he was on his feet and the second man was in his grip. He squeezed and dropped the body. By then, the two others who were in the room had realized what was going on. The woman screamed and threw herself at the door, pressing the keypad hastily. The man wasn't as lucky as he was the next one in the way. Although they'd stripped him of his weapons, he was far from unarmed. He grabbed the man by the back of his white lab coat and slammed him against the observation –there was a _sickening_ crunch as the man fell in a boneless heap and a web of cracked glass crawled up the window. The door beeped and slid open just as the Winter Soldier stepped over the threshold. The woman gave a panicked cry and ran towards the next door which slid open and an armed force stepped inside.

"What did they do to me?" the Soldier snarled in Russian, glaring at the armed guards. They did not answer him. " _What did they do to me?!"_ he shouted.

It was satisfying to see the way one of them flinched back, his gun going up, pointed right at the center of the Soldier's chest. The woman scientist was stranded between them, trembling like a fragile leaf that had fallen from her tree. Stranded and alone in the middle of what was soon to be a sea of violence. There were red stains all over her white coat. By the time he was done, there wouldn't be any white left.

The Soldier calmly turned to her, his hands at ease at his side. "Tell me," he ordered her, in brisk Russian. "Or I will kill you."

"Stand down," commanded one of the Red Room's agents from behind his shield. "Soldier, stand down. I will not let you kill her."

The Soldier smiled darkly. "You think you can stop me? Where could you hide her that I would not find her?" He scoffed as the man's eyes widened in alarm, like he hadn't realized just who or what the Soldier was. What the Soldier was capable of. They had made him an assassin and there was no one on the earth that he could not find or kill. "Let us talk," he offered instead. "And you can collect her when I'm done."

The men traded uneasy expressions between each other before turning back to the Soldier. It wasn't that the Red Room's agents were so frightened, so cowardly; it was that they could not shoot to kill. And while they could not kill the Winter Soldier, he was under no such orders. And if they thought some rubber bullets and tasers would stop him, they were sorely mistaken. He could disarm and kill them all long before they were equipped to take him down. Hydra had given him away on loan and on loan did not include his kill switches. And even if they had tranquilizers, there was enough adrenaline running through his system that he would burn through it. And considering their scientists were otherwise occupied, it would take some time before they got the dosage correct.

The commanding officer gave a slow nod. "Try and not kill her or it won't be pleasant for you," he cautioned before leading his men back out of the room.

It wasn't going to be pleasant for him however this played out. He'd already killed too many people. He wasn't sure how many, exactly. They would tell him later, he was sure of it. He eyed the woman who had curled up and was sobbing, like her tears would protect her. He wasn't going to ask again. He hauled her up, slamming her against the wall carelessly. They hadn't said anything about maiming or inflicting permanent damage although he knew the punishment, whatever they decided it to be, would not be any different. It would take them time to put together a group who could incapacitate him. He had maybe ten minutes before they got one of his codes or until someone decided to try risking tranquilizers.

"I-it's American made!" she sobbed, her arms up to protect her face. "Project Rebirth! Th-the little Widow brought it back. To make better soldiers, yeah?" she stuttered nervously, gesturing at him with shaking hands. "Stronger, faster, immortal, it is good, yeah?"

He didn't feel any different. He didn't think he looked any different. "What else?" he growled.

"Make Omegas Alpha! Maybe Betas become Alpha too?" Her English was quite poor. Why was she speaking in English anyway?

His orientation was a closely guarded secret. The suppressants did their job well. He'd figured out that Hydra had been injecting him with them a long time ago since he hadn't endured any side effects in years. But he still didn't feel right. He felt wrong. He felt very wrong.

"What. Else." He slammed her back against the wall once more, watching in grim satisfaction as she trembled and groaned in pain. He didn't have time for this. With a start, he realized he was speaking in English.

"Nothing!" she cried. "Nothing else! There is nothing else."

The Soldier glared at her and –

The doors slid open, revealing the Red Room's guard. The commanding officer had a gun pressed to the temple of a young redheaded girl. His face was a grim mask of determination. "Let the doctor go," he said, "or we put a bullet through her head."

The Soldier blinked. He had trained that girl. "You would waste her life for _this?_ " he spat, waving the scientist at them like a ragdoll.

"Let her go," growled the guard, pressing the gun more firmly to the girl's skull. At least she looked unafraid. At least she had courage and bravery, the kind that the cowards behind her did not possess.

The Soldier dropped the scientist, holding his hands up in a display of surrender. But a display was just that. No more and no less. He waited until they had removed the scientist from the room, looking between the guards. The commanding officer still held his gun to the girl's head, so at least they weren't stupid. But when they walked out of the room, the commanding officer and his hostage took point. He reacted, disarming and disabling the men and women around him. When the commander turned towards him, gun drawn and the girl in a chokehold in front of him, he raised his hands in surrender. But Natalia was clever. She took the commander down just like Bucky had taught her and then he put a bullet through the man's head. He took her hand and ran.

He didn't know where they were going but he knew they had to go. They made it out of the compound, a military bunker in the middle of Russia. Snow billowed around them when Bucky felt the first bite of a bullet cut straight through his shoulder. He shoved Natalia ahead of him.

"Run," he hissed, already turning to face their pursuers. He didn't look to see if she had listened.

"Stand down!" called the nameless woman, the one who taught the girls their ballet.

He remembered, once, suddenly that she had said the ballet was to make them _believe_ the lies. He wondered if it was the same with him.

"You will not take any of my assets, James," she said curtly. In her hands was a rifle and he knew that she had shot him. He had forgotten that here, here they called him James. He had a different name. He wasn't –he didn't know.

"She's just a child," he heard himself protesting, his hand over the bullet wound. Distantly he wondered if anyone in the world thought of him as a child. He was sixteen but he had a kill list so long he wasn't sure who was on it anymore. Or how many.

"We were all children once, James. Natalia's time for that has ended. Bring her back or I will take her away from you."

He did not bring her back. There was the sharp sting of electricity, of burning, of pain and then there was nothing. When he woke up, he was restrained in a chair and through the window he see the nameless woman addressing the redheaded child. She pointed towards him and he watched, resigned, as the Interrogator shoved a mouth guard into his mouth. His chair tilted backwards and he lost sight of the child who would no doubt be punished because of him. When Hydra came to pick him up, the worst signs of his torture had already healed up. Some of the burns were still there, reminding him of what he had done wrong. As he watched the Hydra agents filter into the room, he nearly sighed in relief when he saw that –that the man in the pinstripe suit wasn't there. Instead, it was John. Which really wasn't an improvement by any means.

"I hear you've made things hard on our friends here, asset," John said, standing in front of him.

They'd stripped him down until the only thing covering him was the underwear they'd left him with. John raked his eyes down his chest, taking in the signs of injuries where they still lingered.

"You know better than this," he tutted disapprovingly, wandering over to the instrument table. He picked up the wrench. "The boss _expects_ better of you," he said, tapping his flesh hand with the wrench.

Bucky kept very, very still. He'd learned a long time ago that tensing up gave away the game, that the officers liked it when he did it. Then they would wait until he relaxed before they started beating him.

"But, you know, before he sent me here, he told me that physical punishment doesn't do much for you. You learn better by other means." John smiled dark and mean. "Like forgetting."

The breath caught in his throat.

"So I think we're going to have to take this place from you, since you can't even train little girls right."

"N-no, please," he stuttered, hating the way his voice shook. "Please."

John smirked and he brought the wrench down, hard and vicious. "What was that?"

Bucky moaned in pain, his hand vibrating in agony. "Y-yes, master," he ground out the words.

They wheeled him and his chair out to the plane and Bucky watched as his hand healed back up in front of his eyes. It was painful and disturbing and he wasn't the only one who had noticed.

"That's just not going to do, is it?" John asked, looming over him.

By the time they had landed back in America, the Soldier trailed meekly along after his captors. And when they fitted the machine over his head, adjusting the mouth guard, he didn't fight back.

He'd been in Russia for three years. And it was all gone.

Bucky pushed himself onto his feet and ran to the bathroom, emptying his stomach into the toilet. His spat, wiping his mouth with a cloth, staring at his flesh hand in alarm. It was just a hand. It was _his_ hand, but that wasn't the point. His heaved again, spitting bile and water back into the toilet. He slumped back against the cool tiles, flushing the toilet as he lay there panting, his stomach muscles contracting. He closed his eyes against the bright lights. Everything hurt. His head was pounding but –but he had his answers. Answers he never wanted.

He slowly opened one eye to see Steve hovering at the door way. "Never talk to me about her again," he said hoarsely. But that wasn't all true. He desperately wanted to know more about what had happened to her.

Steve hesitated only a moment longer before walking in. He grabbed the cloth Bucky had used earlier, washing it out and soaking it with water again. He wrung it out before kneeling down, gently sweeping it across Bucky's brow. And he was going to bitch and complain about it except it actually felt good. It didn't hurt like everything else did. Steve got to his feet, flicking the light switch off and plunging them into darkness. Steve must have still been able to see in the semi-darkness as he fumbled around one of the cabinets –pill bottles rattled, water ran, and then Bucky was half sitting up as Steve offered him some medication.

"It'll help your migraine," he murmured, taking the cloth and running it across the back of his neck.

Bucky watched him suspiciously, reluctantly parting his lips and allowing Steve to put the pills in. Whatever had happened between them, Steve had no reason to try and murder him. They'd been stuck together for more than twenty-four hours and he hadn't yet tried when plenty of opportunities had arisen. Bucky gulped the water down afterwards gratefully. Fuck, he could still see –behind his eyelids, the memories kept playing. He threw himself away from Rogers, the cup clattering as it rolled across the floor and heaved again. Nothing came back up and he could only hope that the pills had dissolved already to do their job as he trembled. His stomach ached. But all he could think about was the way Natalia had looked at him, the way his deformed hand had healed back up, over and over. All he could see was the bodies of the innocent scientists he had slaughtered. The fear had triggered him, but it was definitely his body and his actions and instincts that had done all of that.

"Don't go," Bucky panted, hating the way his voice shook. He felt Rogers hesitate at the doorway again before coming over. "I don't –I don't want to talk about it."

"I'm sorry," Steve said, apologetic. "I didn't mean to –"

Bucky gave a weak, hollow laugh. "Always thought I wanted to remember." He pulled the damp, lukewarm cloth away from the back of his neck. "Pretty sure I was wrong about that," he grimaced in Steve's direction.

Steve took the cloth from him, setting it aside contemplatively. His hands tremored, once, twice and then they stilled. There was a smudge of ink on the undersides of his fingers and Bucky realized he must have been drawing. He wondered if he had spent time drawing like Steve if he could have hidden the way his hands were shaking.

"It's not always going to be good memories," Steve started.

"Haven't seen any of those yet," Bucky laughed mirthlessly. "Don't think I got any."

"You have a whole childhood you haven't seen," Steve insisted. "And a lifetime of other memories. They won't all be bad."

"Yeah, I sure hope so," Bucky muttered, exhausted.

"The bad stuff usually comes before any of the good stuff," Steve said gently. "It'll get easier."

Bucky scoffed heavily. "I think there's a lot worse yet to come, Rogers." He set a hand to his head, sighing in relief as the headache started to ease up. "I think I need to rest."

Steve helped him up and helped him over to the fold out couch. Bucky laid down slowly, his metal arm dangling off the couch in the position he found most relaxing. Hawkins mewed at him from the floor. But it wasn't rest he found. The next wave of memories came on harder and faster and more merciless than before.

He didn't tell anyone that he didn't remember Russia. But there were holes in his memories that he couldn't account for. More than one or two, more like five or six. And anytime he walked past The Room, overwhelming fear would slam into him.

He didn't know why.

He did his jobs. He went out, he killed, and he came back. And then his employers changed things up and he knew he had to do better, had to do more. He needed to learn skills he didn't possess. They took him to The Room and when he left, he knew how to dance every major dance that would occur at a fancy, political party. They shaved his hair and sent him out. He seduced the President's wife and played off like he was from a rival company.

He started a war.

He went to the extraction point and they returned him to The Room and he learned every major language as well as pattern detections. They put product in his hair, showed him to mimic it, shoved a pair of glasses onto his face and sent him in. He was a linguistics expert, adept at recognizing patterns and he told them exactly what the codes told him. It was all someone else's fault. Later that week, after he'd been extracted, the capital of Senegal exploded into a civil war.

They put him back in The Room and dyed his hair and he left with the clearest understanding of how to hack into computers. By the time they had extracted him; he was severely dehydrated and bruised while Yemen burned underneath them.

It was when they sent him to Russia that everything went pear shaped. His hair was short and he was stuck in a tuxedo, waiting to poison a young politician when the next opportunity arose that he saw her. Red hair pinned back from her face with an elegant emerald comb, dressed to the nines in a skin-tight dress that left nothing to the imagination. She put a knife in his target's abdomen and twirled away into the night long before he even realized it had happened.

They weren't happy with him. They sent him to Mongolia after that, on the heels of the politician's adopted son who had started making a fuss. He broke in through the bedroom window and choked the life out of the man before he disappeared again. But they sent him straight through to Bulgaria instead where he ran into the same assassin. She flashed him a cold, empty smile as she danced her way towards him. He didn't know why he did it, but something about her was terrifying to contemplate despite her familiarity. And he wasn't scared of _her,_ but he was scared of something much worse. He ignored her, dodged her advance by grabbing the lovely wife of the Prime Minister of Romania and dancing her across the floor before trading her for the Minister of Finance. He pled off on dancing, saying he was exhausted and lured the man over for drinks before giving him a poisoned drink. By the time the man was dead, Bucky was already out of the country.

They sent him to Asia after that; worried he was attracting too much attention in the northern parts of Europe. So instead he spent his time wining and dining with the Japanese yakuza. They weren't impressed, frightened or interested in Hydra but they were interested with his capabilities. And although it was unfortunate, it had to be done. After three months, he murdered the head of the yakuza branch and let their mole take over. The man was capable and efficient, he just needed some space. And with the target very obvious on the Soldier's back, the mole was able to mobilize the gang against him. From there, he could finish his takeover of Japan.

It was Sri Lanka after that. There were rumors and whispers about illegal secret government experimentations. Nobody liked how those turned out. He took out the guards and investigated the prison himself, leaving no one alive. The prisoners or the experiments, whoever they were, weren't in a shape to fight back. They weren't even in a condition to be aware of what was going on to them. Most of them were comatose. The others, the others he didn't like to think about. Little better than half alive, hobbling and moaning like they were dying, the sound of their cries had been audible the moment he entered the wards they were kept in. Some would have called what he did a mercy. But murder was still murder and for the first time in a long time, he felt unclean. He felt like there was something wrong with what he'd done.

"Left no one alive," he reported in, for the third or fourth time that month.

Time was elusive to him. He couldn't always remember where he had been or what he had been doing. But there was always a mission. And unless his orders specified that they needed someone alive, he didn't sweat the details.

So they called him back to America for the first time in two years. He was sure he'd seen most of Europe and Asia, some of Africa, but mostly he just remembered the bloodshed. The redhead was a long forgotten memory. They sent him to Virginia to 'recover' and while he was there he could train a new resource of theirs who was supposed to be promising. Strucker had labelled him a troublemaking sharpshooter. When Bucky got there, opening the doors to the barns where the kids were kept, that was all he saw. A bunch of kids. The Swordsman greeted him and pointed out the one Hydra wanted to see trained up. He watched as the Swordsman put a blindfold on the teenager and hauled him out of the barn. The barn was only one part of a large complex Hydra had built in the middle of nowhere.

But there was housing for Hydra operatives in the area and he supposed that from far away, they might have resembled a town. They were anything but. The Swordsman hauled the struggling teenager along until they reached the townhouse that had been designated for the Winter Soldier's use. He was of a higher level than both the teenager and the Swordsman even though the Swordsman was going to be in charge of all this. He watched as Duquesne went to remove the blindfold and he waved him off, tossing a katana at the teen's feet.

"Fight," he barked.

The kid slowly knelt down and picked up the sword, unaware of Duquesne moving well out of the way in their small gym. It was unique to the house. The kid didn't protest or argue that he didn't know how to use the weapon, but he held it well enough. He didn't know where he had learned to use swords himself, but apparently he was a fairly adept swordsman. He didn't take Duquesne's as he stepped forward, scuffing his feet. The kid didn't react. Maybe he wasn't as sharp as he –

The kid swung out and he deflected with his arm just in time. Well. He stood corrected. In seconds, he disarmed the kid and had him pinned to the floor. "Try harder," he said, getting back to his feet and letting the kid go.

"Fuck you," spat the boy.

And for a long moment, the Winter Soldier had no idea how to respond. He wasn't used to the children fighting back. They never fought back. They just did as they were told. But he watched as the kid got back to his feet, blindfold still in place.

"No," he said slowly, staring at the boy. "Bend knee."

"Fuck. You," the kid repeated succinctly.

Duquesne started forward but stopped at the Soldier's gesture. It was a position that the Soldier himself was personally familiar with. His Alpha superiors liked to have him that position as often as possible. It made them feel powerful. It was easy to shove the kid down, to wrap his hand around the back of his throat even as the boy still struggled.

"You are not superior," he said. "Stay. Down."

The teenager of course refused. And it was a battle of wills that took nearly all night before the Soldier was the victor. The teenager exhausted and a little bruised –it was hard not to hurt the kid with how hard he fought –was bent over, arms behind his back and winded. But he held his position, just the way the Soldier had wanted him to. It was impressive he'd survived training with this much spirit. But it was the least damaging of punishments and the most he was willing to inflict on the first living human he'd seen in a long time. Since a girl with fire in her eyes. He wondered where he'd met that girl, seen her, but the memory slipped away and he was left standing over the teenaged marksman. He pulled back.

As the operative in charge, Duquesne was entitled to his own room. The Soldier and the marksman were forced to share a room. It wasn't crowded; the house had more than enough room. But it was the closest he had been to another person in a very long time.

"Hey," the teen asked, late at night when Duquesne had long been asleep. His snores echoed through the house. "What's your name?"

The Winter Soldier didn't answer. Didn't the kid realize he wasn't meant to be friends with a pitbull? He was designed and trained to be an efficient killer and there was nothing he was better at doing. He didn't leave survivors or witnesses. He was the best at what he did and there was nothing that would or could stop him from that. And people didn't like to talk to someone like him who had killed as many people as he had. His hands were drenched in blood.

"Hey!" the teen hissed, apparently determined. "I said, what's your name?"

"James Buchanan Barnes," he replied automatically. He blinked in surprise.

"That's a mouthful," said the teen, his arms folded under his head. "My name's Clint."

"I didn't ask," he replied, confused.

Clint snorted a laugh. "Yeah, well you don't gotta ask either. So what do you do here?"

"I teach kids how to kill," he replied, staring at his ceiling, watching the moon's reflection cut through the room. "And tomorrow, I'll start teaching you."

"Like killing someone is hard?" He hadn't poised it as a statement, but he wasn't asking either.

It wasn't something you asked. "When you do it enough, it isn't," he said.

He wasn't surprised when his only answer was the echo of silence. It wasn't the kind of response that left much to respond to.

Bucky woke up with a gasp, cheeks damp in the early dawn. He collapsed back against the couch, just aware of Steve passed out at the end of the couch. The television was on, an old black and white romance movie. Bucky wrapped his metal arm closer to his body, staring at the screen blankly. He caught bits and pieces of the plot, in between Rogers' snoring and the bits of memory that still plucked at his consciousness. Slowly, he reached over and grabbed the remote, flicking the tv off. He glanced at Steve, who was out like a rock. He wished he could remember him. Maybe the memories wouldn't hurt so much if they weren't so ugly and nauseating. He didn't know how he could have ever wished such a curse upon himself. For the first time in his life that he could remember, he brought his hands together and _prayed_ to stop remembering. But it wasn't a surprise that for someone like him, such a simple wish was too much to ask for.

"You're going to change the world," he explained, kneeling down in front of him. "Do you understand how important this is for us?" He smiled kindly. "This one sacrifice, this _final_ sacrifice, will do everything we need."

Bucky nodded slowly, seated in the expensive office chair as he watched Pierce.

"But you see this man?" Pierce pointed at the screen without looking back. "His name is Steve Rogers. Or Captain America as his moniker." He made a disgusted look, and Bucky had to resist flinching. That look never meant good things for him. "He's just a soldier. There's nothing special about him except for the belief that people put in him. They think of him as their American ideal, their one true icon, a beacon to guide them in times of darkness."

Pierce paused, his cold blue eyes on Bucky. "Times of darkness such as if they found out the truth behind Howard and Maria Stark's deaths. We wouldn't even have to give Tony a push, he'd fly off the handle and. Come. Straight. To. You." Pierce smiled. "Of course, Captain Rogers, once he's in love with you wouldn't let that happen. He'd stand up against the entire American army if he had to keep a loved one safe. And that is something I need to have happen. Because with the world distracted over Captain America and his betrayal of everything important to them, do you what that gives me?" He waited, like he actually thought Bucky would answer. (He knew better than to answer. Pierce didn't like answers, he liked silence and obedience and above all results).

"It gives me _time_. Time that I'll need in order to move all my pieces. Not that you would know anything about that, would you?"

Bucky shook his head.

"You are the most important piece for us," he explained gently. "You're going to go undercover as James Barnes, honorably discharged military veteran. And when you get a letter about meeting Steve Rogers, you will accept. You'll go to him. Make him fall in love with you."

Bucky nodded.

Pierce smiled and pulled back. "This is the most important job of your life. And when you're finished, you'll get to be America's new hero."

Bucky was pretty sure America wouldn't want a hero like him, but he couldn't say why. He held still as Pierce's scientists dragged the machine down over his face.

"James Barnes honorably discharged military vet due to your missing limb. Pleasant, charming and witty. I'm sure the Captain –anyone, really –would enjoy a man like that. I want everything else buried."

"Trigger word, sir?" asked one of the scientists.

Bucky was going to be a new hero, a new face to the world. Pierce just needed some time in order to arrange for everything. And he would gladly do it.

"Three little words, good doctor. Let's make sure we hit everyone where it'll hurt the most. Make it, 'I love you.'"

The rest of those memories slotted neatly into place. Meeting Steve, charming him and teasing him in equal measure. Taking him apart with dedication and joy. He really hadn't known anything else –he had just been a simple man. With simple wants and pleasures, unaware of the assassination he was going to bring about to Captain Rogers. He watched as Steve opened up, relaxed around him. The emotions were there too, just underneath the surface, filled to the brim with a sick kind of joy and love that he never wanted to experience again. It was the most horrifying thing he'd done in his entire career. Maybe not the goriest, maybe not the most violent, but it was the most wretched and depraved. He made Steve Rogers fall in love with him. And then he tried to put a knife through his heart.

Bucky stumbled to his feet and just barely made it to the bathroom in time to empty his stomach. He wasn't aware of having eaten since the last time he passed out, but he must have at some point. He was a horrible, horrible human being. He shouldn't be alive. He wasn't meant to be alive. Pierce had wanted him dead. Pierce wanted him to kill Steve and then to be executed afterwards. Why wasn't Hydra hunting him down then? Hydra should have been hunting him down so that they could frame Rogers…

Except they were already doing that. The media, the president, the Avengers. All of them were very publically condemning Steve. But no one was there to watch Pierce; no one was watching the rest of the world. Bucky rinsed his mouth out, flushing the toilet before hurrying back to the living room. Steve wasn't there. He flicked the T.V on, searching through the news channels. Nothing. Nothing! His phone was gone, disposed of to reduce his chances at being tracked after having killed Fury.

Everything was a frame. They were framing _Steve_. For what Bucky had done. S.H.I.E.L.D. was Hydra. Tony was being strong-armed into his stance. What would be the next play? What would Pierce make them do next? Steve wasn't the only one in the know, but he was the only one with the power to convince and change the public's perception. But now, even if he did say something, no one would believe him. They would think that it was all Bucky's fault, that Bucky had convinced Steve of this insanity. He fell to his knees, clutching his head. Such a neat little trap and with his memories jumbled and screwed to hell and back, there was never a question of whether or not it was going to work. It had worked, even if Steve was still alive and breathing, no one would believe him. Pierce was free to orchestrate his plan.

 _Think_ , he told himself angrily. _What will Pierce do next?_ Turn the Avengers on each other. Make a mockery of their heroes; neatly move them out of the way. Tony had friends and he couldn't protect them all –he'd be the first one forced to attack. Or Clint. Clint had a brother, at the least and despite how much he hated him, Bucky was pretty sure threatening to murder him would motivate Clint into action. Natasha was supposed to be an Avenger –she probably didn't have anyone that could be used against her, per se, but they would frame her easily enough with her past. They had those records from the Red Room; they could paint her as some kind of spy. There was the alien god who wasn't on earth and then the green monster, which was missing if Tony's warning, could be trusted.

Had Stark really not realized this was coming next? Because it was. There was a war being brought to America, right to Steve's front doorstep. All because of Bucky. Someone should have killed him a very long time ago. At least then, they might have prevented all of this. As he got back to his feet, he felt disgust settle low in his gut and he wondered how Steve made it through each day. The James Barnes he knew, never really existed. The man he'd been in love with, never really existed. Instead, there was Bucky, playing charlatan. Maybe he was only alive still because Steve could only see his long-lost best friend. Bucky curled his hand into a fist. Bucky had no _right_ to be connected to the hero Steve had spoken of. He wasn't a hero. He hadn't ever been a hero.

And if he could, if he thought it would help anything, he would walk out of this apartment and hand himself over to the authorities. But he knew it wouldn't do anything. Despite how tempted he was, he made his way down the hall and into Steve's room. Steve was flat on his back, sheets tangled around him as he slept soundly. Bucky knocked on the door briefly, watching as Steve jerked upright in alarm and then relaxed when he recognized Bucky. For a brief moment, Bucky imagined how easy it would be to kill him. Steve probably would have let him out of some misguided sense of honor. He could stab him through the heart before he was any wiser or wrap his hand around his neck –

"Buck, you okay?" Steve asked voice low and worried, his hair mussed.

Bucky wondered how he had ever hated this man. "No, not at all," he replied, and even to him his voice sounded absolutely wretched. It sounded like he had been screaming himself hoarse. But no one was awake; no one had woken him so he assumed that wasn't it.

"What's wrong?" And Steve was alert now, sitting upright, all traces of sleep gone.

"It's my fault," Bucky said hoarsely. "It's _all_ my fault." And he sank to his knees. "I-I'm so sorry."

"Buck, Bucky, what are you talking about?" The worry had crept into his tone, and Steve was halfway out of bed.

"I've doomed you," Bucky whispered. "We can't –you can't stay here, Steve. We have to go."

"What, Bucky, I don't understand."

Bucky was on his feet, his hand around Steve's wrist. "You need to leave. They'll be coming. Soon. Iron Man, Widow, Hawkeye, one of them will be here. We have to go. We're putting Rebecca and Dan in danger; they're _going_ to find us."

"Why would Tony try to warn us if he's going to come after us?"

"Because Hydra!" Bucky snarled, as quietly as he could manage. "Because Hydra wants you out of the way because now that Nick Fury is dead, you're the only thing standing in their way. I'm the scapegoat, that's been their plan, but you, you're the martyr to die. They're going to kill you Steve. And then rally the world together, against the good guys."

"We have to –" Steve stopped, his eyes widening. He sat back down on his bed. "No one will believe me, will they?"

"That's the point. I don't know who you called earlier, but you _need_ to assume you can't trust them. Hydra is S.H.I.E.L.D. right? They know everyone's weak points, right where to put pressure. You can't trust them." He waited for the inevitable question.

Steve nodded slowly. "You remembered more?"

Bucky blinked, stunned. That –that wasn't the question Steve was supposed to be asking. "Yeah," he said gruffly. "Yeah, I remembered." Steve was supposed to ask how he knew he could trust him.

But Steve didn't. Steve just threw on his clothes and walked out of the bedroom. He glanced back towards Rebecca and Dan's room, like he wanted to tell them. Bucky set his hand on Steve's arm tentatively.

"The more they know, the more danger they're in."

"We need to get out and lay low, somewhere far away from people," Steve supplied.

Bucky nodded. "We need weapons to defend ourselves, and time we don't have to figure out what to do next." He paused, looking Steve over. "Where's your shield?"

"I left it with a friend," he replied. "We should go there first. He probably won't be home." Steve glanced at Bucky, sharing a smile with him. "He usually isn't."

"How far away?"

"Not long. He's in an apartment building in Brooklyn. Maybe thirty minutes from here on foot."

"If your friend isn't usually home, how are we getting in? And where does he usually go?"

"He usually spends time with his husband," Steve answered, pulling his shoes on. "And we're going to let ourselves in because he keeps a key under a welcome home mat on his fire escape."

Bucky blinked, processing that slowly. "Why?" he asked.

They both startled when the kitchen light flashed on to illuminate Rebecca standing there in a soft, white housecoat. "You're leaving," she said, looking between them. She didn't seem surprised.

"We have to," Bucky felt compelled to say. "I'm sorry. We don't have time. We can't tell you where but we have to –"

He didn't get a chance to finish speaking before Rebecca had thrown her arms around him and was hugging him tightly.

"I don't care," she said, fiercely. "I don't care. Just promise me you'll come back. Both of you, promise you'll come back alive."

"Yes, Becca, of course," Steve said gently. "We'll come back as soon as we can."

"What he said."

Rebecca gave a watery laugh, pulling back. "Okay. Okay. Just. Be safe out there." She looked between them both before hugging Steve just as tightly. "Call me if you need help. If there's _anything_ I can do. If you're dying, call me to say goodbye because I need to know."

Bucky laughed despite himself. "You're a worrywart. We aren't going to die and if I'm dying, my last breath is going towards shoving my fist through whoever did its' heart."

Rebecca let go of Steve and said, "Not anymore. It now goes to phoning me and telling _me_ their name along with saying goodbye or I will murder you myself, okay?"

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Yeah, okay, _mom_."

Rebecca shoved his arm. "Just be safe."

They left in the darkness through Rebecca's fire escape. Bucky was impressed and a little startled at how silently Steve could move but he followed after him, aware of Rebecca watching as they disappeared into the night. It was easy enough to avoid the patrols by keeping to the back alleys. Homeless people didn't like cops and cops seemed to feel the same. If Hydra had been out, it would have been a different story. But as things stood, there were no obstacles between them as they made their way into Brooklyn, towards Steve's friend's apartment. And, true to his word, hidden underneath a door mat and balanced very precariously on the grating of the steps, was a key that let them into the apartment.

The apartment was empty, just as Steve had predicted. It was a little bit of a mess; empty pizza boxes stacked on the counter, a man's suit jacket thrown haphazardly across the couch. There was a target set up at the end of a hallway –where a normal person might place a decorative vase or plant, this person had a bull's eye target –stuck with several arrows. Steve didn't seem surprised by any of it as he walked down the hall, opening a closet or pantry door. He pulled out his shield and a leather holster with magnets attached. It actually made a lot of sense to carry it that way.

"How are you going to conceal that?" In his memories, it didn't seem quite so _American_ , quite so conspicuous. How had this man ever worked for a covert, undercover operation?

"I'm not going without it," Steve answered stubbornly. He reached around his shield and he must have pushed a button because his shield was instantly cloaked, blending with the background. He turned around and put it over his back where it remained hidden, barely obvious at the top of his shoulders. "Stark made some adjustments to it. And it comes with cloaking technology that'll stand up against any natural environment."

"Will it stand up in battle conditions?" Because that was the real question here.

"Stark said 'probably' when I asked him, so that's as good as a yes to me."

As good as a confirmation wasn't actually a confirmation. "Does your friend keep any guns around here?" Knives were good and all, but he would really feel better if he could have a trigger under his finger when they walked into a fight. And it _was_ a matter of when, not if.

"No, he's really more of an archery guy…"

Hawkeye. Of course. Bucky sighed loudly. "A guy who can shoot arrows like that has to be pretty decent with a gun."

"He is. He just won't use them unless they're necessary."

That sounded like Clint, alright. If he did anything, he didn't do it in halves and he would only do it if it was as complicated as he could possibly make it. "Do you know anywhere we can grab a gun without robbing a weapons dealership?"

"Not in New York," Steve replied. "Normally I would say the Tower, but that's out. Phil's would be the next best bet, but he's in the field last I heard _and_ his place is under more surveillance than a maximum security prison apparently."

"Who told you that?" Bucky asked.

"Clint as he's the one holed up there for now. Otherwise he'd probably be here, but he splits his time between his apartment and Phil's when Phil's out of town. And when Phil is in town, really."

"Phil's his boyfriend?"

"You've met him before. Agent Coulson, Phil Coulson."

Bucky's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "I didn't think that was Clint's type."

"I don't think Clint did either, really," Steve replied, climbing back down the fire escape. "Or Phil, for that matter."

* * *

A/N I love you all. Comments are the best. I don't have Internet, it's sheer luck I was able to come into town and post this today. Thank you :)


	8. Broken Crown

They snuck out of New York before the sun had even risen. By the time they were at the city limits, Steve had hotwired the first vehicle he could get his hands on.

"I can see the headlines already," Bucky drawled, leaning against the parking meter. "Captain America, great car thief of New York."

"We're borrowing it," Steve fired back, listening as he reconnected the wires.

"I'm sure the owners will be oh so grateful," Bucky drawled, climbing in when he heard the engine start. "Then again, I guess they should try and remember to set the alarm on it." He pulled his seatbelt on. "How did Captain America learn how to hotwire a car?"

"War," Steve replied, pulling his own seatbelt on. He paused as he backed out of the parking spot. "And before that, your dad liked to fix up cars in his spare time. Earn a little cash on the side and sometimes he'd let us help him."

"He taught you how to hotwire a car?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "You spend enough time around mechanics and you can pick up the theories of how to do it."

"And when you were serving you had to use these skills?"

"Needed to get the prisoners out," he replied tersely, trying to not remember the last time he'd had to hotwire a car and drive out of a desert.

For once, he was grateful for the cold chill in the air of an early winter settling in. It kept him in the current time. And considering the rate at which Bucky's memories were coming back to him, stealing him away, at least one of them needed to be aware and attuned with their surroundings.

"So where are we going exactly?" Bucky asked.

"I have a safe house," Steve admitted. "I've never told anyone about it. But when I was part of Strike Team Delta, Natasha and Clint were pretty determined to make sure I had a couple of back-up places to go to." Steve paused, shoulder-checking as he changed lanes. "We're going to go there and come up with a plan on how to stop Hydra."

"On our own?" Bucky snorted. "That won't go over well…" He trailed off, a faraway look in his eyes as he stared out the window.

Steve glanced at him worriedly. Another memory was coming back to him. At this rate, keeping Bucky safe was going to become a challenge. But he didn't have time to worry about that. At least this time Bucky wasn't shaking or hyperventilating, so hopefully that meant the memories weren't that bad. But Steve hated seeing him this way. He was practically comatose and despite what comfort he had offered to Bucky earlier, he was fairly certain there were worse memories to come before any of the good ones came. Rebecca's place was one of his safe houses, when he'd joined S.H.I.E.L.D. he'd made the necessary protections with her at her apartment. Since then, Steve had accumulated only a few more locations.

It wasn't a long drive to New Jersey despite the sedate traffic. Few people were out commuting at four in the morning on a weekday. He kept his eye on Bucky as they passed drove around the police barricade and into New Jersey. There weren't enough agents or cops to watch every possible route into New Jersey. And Steve didn't really expect that the stolen ball cap and several days' stubble growth would be enough to get them through one of the barricades. Bucky on the other hand had enough stubble it was almost a beard. Another few days and it _would_ be one. It made him look older, tired and impossibly softer.

Bucky came back to himself with a soft inhalation, sitting upright. He rubbed at his eyes and Steve wasn't sure whether to be relieved or not, that he wasn't crying. Bucky hadn't told him much about his dreams, aside from the two occasions that Steve had clearly caused him to remember something traumatic. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, wondering if he'd ever be able to let Bucky remember something pleasant for once.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah just… Doing things without back-up isn't a good plan." His voice was hauntingly somber. Bucky swallowed, turning to watch out the window.

Again, Steve wasn't sure whether or not Bucky was aware of the time he was losing every time he regained a memory. But he didn't want to bring it up either.

"I still have a few friends out there. Bruce, Sam…"

"One of those two is missing and that list is a whole two people. Not going to get us –left!" Bucky shouted, grabbing the wheel and yanking it to the left severely.

An arrow slammed into the road just ahead of where the wheel would have been and seconds later, it exploded. Bucky released the wheel just as they veered off road and Steve spared a moment to be grateful that he'd hotwired a truck. In the rear view mirror, he caught sight of one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s armored vehicles bearing down on them. Standing upright was Clint, free of his Avengers uniform, instead dressed up in a tac suit, bow and arrow drawn as he fired for them again.

"Son of a -!" Bucky swore as the arrow pierced the front wheel on his side.

Steve slammed on the brakes, letting the armored SUV crunch into the back of their truck.

"How did they find us?" Bucky demanded, pulling a gun from –Steve didn't actually know where. In fact he wasn't even sure when Bucky had managed to find one. Bucky unrolled his window and turned, firing several shots back at the SUV before ducking back in.

"I don't know," Steve muttered, slamming his foot onto the gas. They lurched away from the SUV but he knew that S.H.I.E.L.D. had the advantage in this terrain.

The SUV slammed into them again, catching the tailgate just right and sending them careening sideways where they stopped when they crashed into a tree on the passenger side. Steve groaned, fumbling to undo his seatbelt. He could hear Bucky cursing colorfully so he didn't hesitate in reaching back to grab his shield and stepping out. Rumlow and the rest of Strike Team Theta got out of the vehicle, each of them armed. Clint remained at his vantage point, an arrow nocked and ready to be fired. Bucky crawled out after Steve, his gun drawn.

"Drop your weapon, Rogers," Rumlow ordered. "You too, if you value your life drop your gun."

"No," Steve said, bringing his shield up as he moved to stand in front of Bucky. "Rumlow, you have to know –"

"He's one of them," Bucky growled out, staring straight at Rumlow. "Don't waste your breath."

"Cap, you've known me for how many years," Rumlow asked, his stance open and unthreatening. Behind him, Strike Team Theta remained in position, their guns drawn and ready. "You really gonna trust this guy over me? We just wanna make sure you're alright…"

Steve scanned his movements, watching him distrustfully. Bucky was the one who had been Hydra's pawn –he would know any Hydra agent on sight. But if there was someone on Theta who wasn't Hydra, he didn't want to attack without provocation. As he watched, he saw just the excuse he needed. Rumlow was reaching for his stun gun, trying to distract him, trying to play it off like he was a good guy. Steve had never really liked Rumlow. The handful of missions he'd worked with him had left him with the sense that Rumlow liked causing pain and hurting people. It was a part of Rumlow that he didn't exactly try to hide either.

"You don't know anything!" Steve shouted back, raising his shield.

Rumlow growled. "Barton, he ain't going to come in easy!"

"I told you he wouldn't," Clint muttered, letting an arrow loose.

Steve deflected the bolt which landed aside harmlessly –and Steve spared a moment to be grateful it wasn't an explosive as Rumlow and the rest of Strike Team Theta charged in to attack. Bucky shoved Steve aside, meeting Rumlow blow-for-blow. As Steve fought off his attackers, he was familiar enough with Clint to know that the man was only fooling around with them. He wasn't trying. Bucky kept Rumlow occupied enough that Rumlow couldn't even get an order out. And without an order, Clint obviously saw no reason to help. As Steve disarmed and dropped another of Theta's members, he could just make out Clint's voice through their comm system.

"Boy, sure glad I came out here to help you guys," he drawled, letting some of his Midwestern accent creep in. "No one's asking for help, sure looks like you've got this handled."

Steve spared a moment to smile before moving onto the remaining six agents. They moved as one, practiced and well-rehearsed together. Unfortunately for them, Steve had spent some time working with them. And he remembered their faces and their faults. Grainger left his midsection open; Hammerstrom had a weak arm because he hadn't taken care of it and so it broke easily; Louis never watched his back and Rollins never watched it for him; Jones was a terrible fighter and Payton hesitated. They were good, professional fighters in their own rights. But a punch to Grainger's stomach dropped him and it was a matter of kicking his weapon from his hand. Steve turned, blocking Louis' punch and taking Rollins' kick to the inside of his knee, half falling before slamming his shield down on Hammerstrom's good arm. With a howl, Hammerstrom was out of the fight, clutching his arm. Steve turned, deflecting Louis' next blow towards Rollins before knocking them both out with a quick tap. In one blow, he had disarmed Jones and knocked him out. Payton hesitated before he punched which left Steve ample time to block and redirect him so he was in Grainger's way as the other man got to his feet. With simple footwork, he left them tied up over each other and with a quick blow he had knocked them out.

Rumlow broke away from Bucky, but Bucky wasn't having it, advancing on him. However that was all the time Rumlow needed to provide to him before he was calling for help. "Barton, get your ass in gear and do something!"

Clint drawled, "Yeah, right on that, buddy," and he released an arrow.

Steve wasn't sure what he was expecting, but the way the arrows started battering his shield was not what he'd been expecting. Two landed, planting themselves firmly on his shield. For a second there was nothing wrong, but then he felt the electricity racing down through it and he tried to hold onto it but without meaning to, he dropped his shield. And then Clint was really fighting him. But as with the people Steve was closest to, he knew what their weaknesses were. Much like Clint knew the strategies that could defeat him. But one on one? Clint didn't have the resources he would need in order to tire Steve out or corner him. On his own, Clint didn't stand a chance. Unarmed or not, Steve was still a force to be reckoned with. He dropped low, ducking behind a tree and then raced towards the SUV. Clint must have changed arrows at some point because the snow-covered earth started blowing up and a net sailed through the air to land between two trees, essentially providing him extra cover, and forcing Steve to move into the clearing where he would have a better view.

All he had to do was disarm Clint and Steve would have the advantage again. He looked around, quickly making a compact ball of ice and dirt which he lobbed at Clint as he raced out of cover.

"Making this a snowball fight now are we, Cap?" Clint quipped, firing an arrow at him.

As it grazed his cheek, Steve spared a moment to be grateful that Clint didn't fight with poisoned arrows. "You'd win that if that were the case," Steve called, rolling to avoid the next arrow as he raced towards the SUV.

Clint smirked. "Yes and I'm planning on winning this one too, Cap, so if you'd surrender that'd be a great help about now…"

Another arrow slammed itself home, slicing across Steve's open palm. "That was a warning shot, Cap!" Clint called. "Hands up and surrender yourself to S.H.I.E.L.D. before this gets any messier!"

"You don't know who you're siding with, Clint!" Steve argued, peering around the tree. An arrow thudded solidly into the trunk, right where Steve's head was on the other side.

"I'm siding with the good guys, Cap. I can't let a –a murderer like Barnes out there!"

And that, that was what Steve had been listening for. Clint had said he'd known Bucky, before. When they'd both been prisoners of Hydra. And Clint had also said that Bucky had saved his life. While Clint no doubt still thought of himself as a murderer for the terrible things he had done, he would never think of Natasha or Bucky the same way. Bucky was right. Clint was being forced to do this.

"He isn't a murderer!" Steve argued. "And you don't have to do this, Clint."

"I really have to, Cap." Aside from the noise of Rumlow and Bucky fighting, it was quiet but for the sound of Clint nocking another arrow. "Come on Cap, just stand down and we can deal with this nice and easy. No one has to get hurt."

"Except my –friend!" Steve shouted, running from his cover towards Clint. Clint wouldn't hurt him. And he didn't have time to figure out who Bucky was to him –he'd spent so many sleepless nights going over that struggle that he knew there was no end to those questions. It was a bottomless pit that led into a rabbit hole.

"He's a murderer, Cap!" Clint called again, firing an arrow as he stood balanced on the hood of the SUV.

"Takes one to know one, Barton!" Bucky snarled, his voice carrying through the clearing.

Steve grabbed Clint, hauling him down as he turned in preparation for an attack from Bucky that didn't come. But Steve hadn't been anticipating a fight from his teammate and friend. He thought once they were out of Rumlow's sight, Clint would be able to tell him what was going on but he didn't. He slammed his fists against Steve, shoving him aside as he righted himself and suddenly they were fighting. Steve wasn't sure he'd ever seen Clint fight like this before. Not since they'd been on a mission in Peru and gotten word that Coulson had been injured and they needed Clint back. But even so, Steve wasn't unfamiliar with Clint's tendency to fall back on fighting hard and dirty. It was eerily reminiscent of their time together sparring on Strike Team Delta –so much in fact, that Steve half expected Natasha to drop out of a tree and kick him in the side of the head. But she wasn't here. It was just him and Clint.

Clint wasn't faster or stronger than the average person, but he was experienced and a quick thinker. Steve's fist caught him in the corner of his mouth and Clint nearly dropped back, but then he was back upright and swinging. His blows were glancing, just missing, and skirting the tip of Steve's nose and his temples. Clint was trying to end this quickly. Steve blocked, grunting when Clint kneed the side of his knee.

"Just go down already," Steve pled, "I don't want to hurt you."

Clint grinned, revealing bloody teeth where Steve had landed a punch earlier. "Yeah well, you're gonna have to," he replied, dodging Steve's next blow and taking him down.

It was a futile move, and Clint had to know it. Steve's bigger size made it almost impossible for Clint to get a proper hold on him in this situation. But Clint didn't seem to care about that, judging by the way he locked his body in that position, braced perfectly for when Steve threw him off and landed on him. Fighting with someone as well trained as Clint narrowed down Steve's battle awareness. Against someone like Bucky, it was all he could do to fight and react. And that reaction included his environmental awareness. With someone like Clint, he had to try and focus on Clint and the environment because that was what Clint would use to win. He was an adept student of Coulson, Natasha and Steve's training. And apparently Bucky's. But even so, Steve wasn't actively trying to hurt Clint. Clint hadn't tried to physically hurt him –sure, he'd fired warning shots but he'd been mostly avoiding doing any permanent damage. So Steve was not prepared when Clint rolled over, scrambling to his feet, surfacing with his bow and an arrow in hand.

To his credit, Clint actually looked apologetic when he fired the arrow. Steve had experienced only a handful of situations more painful than this one, when Clint's arrow landed on his chest and released electromagnetic shock waves. Every muscle in Steve's body locked up and convulsed and he fell to the ground, hard, unable to catch himself as he lay there shaking involuntarily. He groaned, trying to get his tongue to work, his muscles to obey him as Clint walked over, an arrow in hand. At this distance, if Clint really wanted to, all he had to do was push the arrow through Steve's chest and he would be dead. But there was no way Clint would ever do it. No matter what they had on him, whatever they forced him to do; Clint would never kill one of his friends. Steve struggled to sit up and managed it when the spasms briefly let up.

"Shoot me," Clint mouthed, giving a significant look to his arrow as he raised it to his bow.

Steve reached, fighting his protesting, still-spasming muscles as he threw himself at Clint, tackling him to the ground. Clint didn't resist. And as reluctant as Steve was, as confused as he was, he grabbed the arrow and slammed it against Clint's chest. Where the tip spread out and Steve had the uncomfortable experience of feeling Clint writhe in pain under him as the electromagnetic shocks gave him the same electrifying experience Steve had just endured. Steve fell off Clint, landing beside him as his muscles gave another painful seize. While it had been his intention to get off Clint, it had not been his decision –his muscles made that decision. Clint gave a pained wheeze and Steve watched as Clint's body seized. In the distance, he heard Bucky give a triumphant whoop.

"What was that about," Steve demanded, winded as he stared at Clint.

"Trackers. Your clothes, y-your skin, your shield," Clint stuttered out. "Comm system," he managed to lift his arm, presumably to gesture to the ear piece. "Shorted 'em out."

Steve groaned. "That's how you found us?"

"You c-could thank a guy."

Footsteps drew Steve's attention away as Bucky came to stand over them. He looked between them. "What the hell happened to you two?"

Clint stretched his arm out, pointing at Steve.

"Trackers," Steve said slowly, making sure he wasn't going to start stuttering like Clint. "And recorders. Clint fried them."

"Feels like a goddamn giant sat on me and then squeezed," Clint growled out.

"You did it to yourself," Steve fired back, sitting upright. He could feel his muscles relaxing, although his arm was still shaking.

"You're welcome," Clint quipped. "Yeah, no problem Cap, just love helping out my friends. Good to see Barnes, lookin' alive and all."

Bucky shrugged, shoving his metal hand inside his coat pocket. Steve was pretty sure he wasn't even bruised. "I've seen you looking better, Barton," he drawled, nice and easy and familiar in a way that he seldom was with Steve. "Besides, it was my pleasure to deal with Rumlow."

"Guy's a fuckin' nightmare," Clint said, still sprawled out on his back. He pulled his arrow off his chest, setting it aside. "I meant compared to the last time I saw you."

"When I was trying to murder Steve or when I tried to kill you back in Europe?"

Clint paused. "Either, either of those times, really." He grunted as he sat back up, his hand going to his chest. "I didn't think you remembered that."

"Didn't," Bucky said.

"He's remembering some things," Steve explained, glancing at Bucky. "Sometimes. It comes and goes."

"Oh well, that's… got to suck," Clint said with an apologetic wince. "Hope you hit the good stuff first." He pushed himself onto shaky legs.

"No, my highlights have been the naming ceremony, a revenge quest gone wrong and a lot of death to people who didn't deserve it."

Clint just gave a nod. "We've both killed a lot of people, Bucky. But don't let it be who you are. You were always more than that. We both were –and are."

"Would help if I could remember those parts," Bucky sneered.

"No," Clint said softly. "It won't."

"What would you know?"

"What wouldn't I know?" Clint growled. "You think the Winter Soldier is the only one who's done anything he regrets? You don't even know who I was, do you?"

"Ronin," Bucky snapped, glaring at Clint.

Steve felt his eyes widen in surprise. He'd heard that name. _Everyone_ knew that name; the way they knew the Black Widow's name before she joined S.H.I.E.L.D. in fact he was pretty certain there were still agencies out there trying to find Ronin.

"Oh, that's just a name, Barnes," Clint replied crisply. "A name without a history of bloodshed to you. I don't expect you to remember, but for all the terrible, awful things they made you do? The one that earned me my name that built Ronin's reputation?"

And even Steve knew the horrifying story, the shocking thing that Ronin had done that no one could understand. But for the last few days, he'd been watching Bucky shut down and try to cope with things no person should ever have to deal with. And certainly not deal with alone. From Clint's determined expression, he knew that Clint must have been able to see the same signs. Maybe because they'd known each other once, or maybe it was because Clint had been through it all before, but either way, it was something Steve knew better than to interfere in. It was Bucky's space to deal with it. And if Clint wanted to share, then it was Clint's decision.

"They tortured me for weeks. But there's only so much you can hold off to. And if I didn't, they would keep doing it. Because they're Hydra, because they don't kill you when you say no, they break you. They gave me a sword, my very first one and they put me in a church. I killed twenty-two kids and eighteen others. Because there was a mob boss trying to refuse Hydra; I could have just killed the kid and his mother, but no. I had to make a point." Clint turned away, inhaling sharply. "You're not the only one they made do horrible things."

"I still did them."

"And so did I," Clint replied harshly. "But someone out there –and there are people who will understand that what we did? What we did isn't who we are. And we didn't have a choice to do it."

Bucky rolled his shoulders. "How do you –how do you live with it?"

Clint turned back to him, his blue eyes gentle and understanding in a way that Steve wasn't sure he'd ever seen on Clint before. "I work for S.H.I.E.L.D. and I save people. I know there's –Hydra's somehow here too. In some places but that's only Nick Fury is gone. Coulson's out there somewhere and Hill. And they never would have sent us into a bad situation. I got to decide what missions I wanted and what I didn't. And now, now I'm also an Avenger. I get to save the world. It doesn't change what I've done, but I can put my skills to good use to save good people." Clint chuckled bitterly at that. "And the bad ones, but those aren't my decisions to make."

"Do they know who you are?"

"No," Clint answered softly. "Nobody knows that but you two now and Phil and Natasha. My brother." He paused, turning to Steve then, forcing a smile onto his face. "So I came here to give you a head's up –they're telling me if I don't do what they want, they'll kill Coulson. They've got snipers on him. I couldn't –I needed to let you know about the trackers. And now that I have, I need you to knock me out. Make it look real."

"We're going to stop them," Steve said. "We'll get to Coulson."

"Get to Nat first; she's got the rest figured out." Clint grinned at him. "Actually, just keep going to New Jersey because she's waiting for you at your safe house."

"No one knows about –"

"Can't keep a secret from the Black Widow, Cap," Clint said, adjusting his stance. "Now punch me out and make it look real. We don't have a lot of time."

Steve sighed, shifting his feet before doing exactly as requested. Clint grunted and dropped back, unconscious.

Bucky couldn't remember ever hearing about the church but he didn't doubt it had happened. Hydra had made him do a lot of things, but they'd never made him slaughter children like that. He was fairly certain that if he had, those memories would be back by now. Especially considering his luck. He glanced in the mirror, half expecting to see someone chasing after them. But there was no one.

"Clint will find his way to us once Phil's safe," Steve said. He'd since stolen another truck and they were back on their way to Steve's safe house. "Clint's smart and Coulson probably already knows what's going on. He was Fury's right hand man."

Because he needed more reminders about all the people he'd killed that he didn't even remember assassinating. "I don't need you to try and make me feel better," Bucky said stiffly.

Steve sighed softly, tightening his hold on the steering wheel. "I worry about you."

"You don't know a thing about me!" he spat. "You're just worried about precious _James_. Well, newsflash, Hydra made him up and he isn't coming back."

Steve slammed on the brakes and wordlessly got out, slamming the door behind him. Bucky twisted, turning to look out the window, to watch as Steve walked around to the rear end of the pick-up, slamming his hands down on the box of it. He slowly, very slowly pressed his forehead against the metal, one hand sweeping his hair back from his face. After a moment, Steve brought his hand back down, slapping it against the metal a few times.

 _Way to go Barnes_ , he thought to himself. _Antagonizing the only person who cares about you right now._ That was such a shitty thing to say too. It was the elephant in the room though and since he'd realized what he'd done to Steve, he was growing increasingly more frustrated and confused. Why was Steve doing all of this for him? It didn't make sense. And maybe Steve wasn't doing it all for him, but he wasn't handing him over to the authorities or trying to kill him either. He didn't like not understanding what Steve was up to. Because Bucky wasn't James –which, Steve had to know by now. But he also wasn't the childhood friend of Captain America either. And Steve's earlier answer about him being human was just an escape route because he didn't have an answer ready. There was more to it. And Bucky didn't want to be a stand-in for either the boy he'd never been or the man who'd never existed.

Bucky sighed softly, easing his door open. He didn't want to be handed over, he didn't want Hydra to win and he didn't want Steve to be mad at him. Much as he deserved it. As he stepped out of the vehicle, he spotted Steve walking around to him.

Steve stared at a fixed point past Bucky's shoulder. "I'm not feeling up to driving at the moment," he stated.

Bucky stared at him, unnerved by the way Steve _resolutely_ refused to meet his gaze. "I, I could drive?" he offered.

"Great," Steve said, getting into the passenger seat and slamming the door. The truck shook with the force of it.

Bucky slowly walked back around the truck, lingering at the spot Steve had grabbed onto. He didn't know how to apologize. Steve was just… Steve was trying to help. And Bucky didn't do well with help. This wasn't even about Steve. Bucky opened the door and eased into the driver's seat, pulling his seatbelt on. He eased back onto the freeway, chancing a glance at Steve who was staring straight ahead like a statue. His lips were pressed together in a tight line, his arms crossed.

"I-I'm sorry," Bucky said with difficulty. "I didn't. That was. I shouldn't have said that."

Steve didn't respond. And those three words summarized the rest of their journey through scenic New Jersey.

It was nearly dark and Bucky hadn't eaten all day. And he was sick of the oppressive, horrible suffocating silence that hovered between them. But he didn't know how to break it. His tentative apologies had been met with stony silence. And maybe it had more to do with Steve and Steve's issues but the silence was horrible. Bucky tentatively flicked on the signal light and pulled into an A&W drive thru. He tugged his baseball cap lower over his face, though he wasn't really worried. The older truck gave a shudder as he idled behind a car, staring at the menu in front of him. a little lost. He glanced at Steve and was surprised to see Steve was asleep. Bucky bit his lip and drove up to the order box, grateful for the giant signs telling where he needed to go.

"How may I help you?" drawled a bored teenager.

"I, uh, eight cheeseburgers? And two root-beers and fries. No –onion rings?" Bucky stuttered.

"So two meals, okay. That'll be twenty-four seventy-five at the next window."

Bucky slowly eased forward, pulling out the required cash. He wasn't sure where he'd gotten the cash but he figured he was better off not knowing. He paid and was waved onto the next window where a blonde pixie girl in hipster glasses was waiting with a paper bag. She handed it over along with a drink tray, flashing him a warm smile. Bucky set the food down next to Steve and carefully set the drink tray down before he kept driving. Steve's directions had been clipped and short, but they were almost at the place.

Bucky pulled down onto the street, parking the truck. Didn't want to leave a trail leading straight to the safe house after all. The truck was at least twenty-five years old and it creaked and groaned, but it worked. He grabbed the bag of food, pulling it away before lifting the drink tray up and nudging Steve's shoulder with it. He didn't wait to see if the other man was awake or stirring before heading up to the house. He waited at the door, debating whether or not eating a cheeseburger without Steve would make his situation any worse. As Steve walked over, Bucky spared a moment to be grateful he'd ordered onion rings instead of French fries. He could remember when he was James that they'd shared fries countless times and there was no way that would have helped the situation any. Granted, those fries were usually expensive, classy wedges, not fast food.

Steve opened the door and walked inside; inputting a code as Bucky carefully came inside, walking towards the kitchen. The house was quite nice, if a little barren. The ceiling was arched, delicate redwood beams curving underneath the skylight. The floors were a deep chestnut brown, some kind of wood flooring that no doubt cost a fortune. As he moved through the living room, past the modern furniture, he caught sight of the elegant kitchen. It was small –the whole house was small, but it was very elegant. It didn't seem entirely like Steve. It felt more like a family home. There wasn't a dining room, but the island was spacious and Bucky set the bag of food down. He pulled out two plates, giving Steve a wide berth when the other man entered. There were dark circles under his eyes. He pulled a stool out, sitting down on it like an oversized puppy. Bucky pushed one of the plates toward him. Steve took it silently.

They ate in silence.

"Steve," Bucky said, hating the way his voice warbled uncertainly. "Steve, I'm sorry about what I said. I didn't. I didn't mean to and it was a really shitty thing to say. I know… I know you know I'm not James. You haven't tried treating me the same or –"

"I am so tired of this," Steve said, pressing his hands against his face. "You keep shutting me out. And you can do that, that's your right. But James was –he was someone to me, even though he shouldn't be. And you were my childhood friend. And I get that you need space, but I can't keep doing this. Every time I try to help you, I feel like I'm getting ready for a punch."

"So you decided to shut me out?" Bucky demanded. "That's a little childish."

"I needed some space!" Steve exploded at last. "I needed some space," he repeated, quietly, dragging his hands down his face. He sighed. "I –I'm sure you need space, and me trying to fix things isn't helping but I don't know what else to do."

"I don't need your help," he replied defensively, curling his arm around himself. "I'm fine."

Steve exhaled loudly, shaking his head. "Yeah, okay. You're fine." He put up his hands. "I don't want to fight anymore today." He got up and walked out of the room.

A few moments later, there was the soft _shick_ of a door shutting. And then nothing. For a long, long moment Bucky sat at the island, clueless as to what he should do next. He could remember when he was James that Steve used to do the dishes. Doing the dishes wasn't exactly a highly valued skill at Hydra, so he drew on his memories of Steve and washed their plates before disposing of their garbage. And then, he really didn't know what to do. He sat down on the couch stiffly. There wasn't a television and while there was a bookshelf, it didn't have any books. A couple of cacti and odds and ends, but nothing Bucky could use to distract his mind.

He checked the couch only to discover that it wasn't a fold out like what Rebecca and Dan had. He sat back down before realizing he still had his coat on. And he didn't have any clothes to sleep in. He took the coat off and hung it up on the coat rack before making his way back to the couch. What was he supposed to do? He didn't have any blankets. He didn't know if there were blankets, or where he could find any. He looked down at the end of the hall, where Steve's bedroom had to be. The bathroom was the very last room and the door on the right was shut tight, so he assumed it had to be Steve's.

Here he was, free of Hydra and utterly helpless. He grabbed a cushion from the leather armchair and stretched out on the couch –but his feet dangled off the edge. And the leather stuck to his warm skin unpleasantly. But he closed his eyes and focused on going to sleep. And, eventually, sleep came.

 _A series of numbers and letters echoed in the background and he knew, for one horrifying, awful moment that they had recalled him. And then it vanished and he was the Soldier. And in front of him, stood the golden-haired hero, with gentle blue eyes. And he refused to fight._

" _Finish it already," John barked, reclining in his seat like a king. Pierce's dead body lay at his feet. "We don't have time for this nonsense."_

" _Bucky, Bucky, come on, I know you're in there," Steve said, a tender smile on his face. It was the kind of smile he used to give James, when he thought James wouldn't notice. James noticed. "Let's go home."_

 _The Soldier advanced and wrapped his metal hand around Steve's neck. He watched as he choked the life out of him, his helpless gasps echoing in the darkness._

" _Stop," John ordered suddenly, a cruel smile sliding across his face. "No, this is too good. Bring him here. Let me finish it." The wrench was back in his hand and the Soldier was already dragging Steve towards his new master. John slammed the wrench down against Steve and there was a splatter of blood –_

Bucky woke up, uncertain as to what had woken him only to find that he was crouched over Steve, his hands around his neck. With a panicked yelp he threw himself off the hero, slamming back into the couch and flipping it over as well. He felt like he was going to be sick. He could hear Steve gasping for breath and Bucky crawled onto his hands and knees, emptying his stomach contents into the toilet bowl. When he was done, he was panting and shuddering and he was sure there were tears streaming from his eyes. Behind his eyelids, he could see Steve's anguished face and his fingertips still felt like they were wrapped around his neck.

"Bucky," Steve said quietly from the doorway. "Hey, hey," he said soothingly, dropping down to sit beside him, his hand on his back.

For once, Bucky didn't shrug his hand away, hiccoughing for a breath. He couldn't breathe. He'd killed Steve. He'd let Steve die. He'd been about to kill Steve all for –for what, he didn't even know. It didn't matter either. Orders. Hydra still had his codes. They could wipe his mind, his memory; take away everything he was just starting to put together again.

He could forget.

He could forget everything.

But the price would be letting them continue to use him. And he was not going to let anyone do that to him ever again. No one could tell him what to do. He didn't want to be their puppet. He didn't want to have to hurt his friends. And he could remember those years ago, when he and Clint had gone Hydra hunting, when they'd recalled him. He could remember trying to hunt Clint down with the express purpose to kill him. And he didn't want that.

"You're okay," Steve said soothingly. "It was a bad dream."

"I killed you," Bucky answered morosely. "And then I woke up, and I was killing you." Maybe he wasn't so fine after all. Maybe he was falling apart at the seams and Steve just kept trying to stitch him back together. Had that been why they were fighting? It felt like ages ago instead of just a few hours. He didn't like it.

"It was just a nightmare."

"One that I almost made happen!" Bucky said, trembling. He felt like he was falling apart. "I remembered today, earlier, that they have codes. With the implanted memories, they implanted codes in me so they can reset me."

All those years ago, when he'd traveled with Natasha in order to save Clint from Hydra, in order to get their revenge on Hydra. Of course, those were the memories that had returned to him. The worst part was that even as they slaughtered every Hydra agent they encountered, it never felt like they were doing the right thing. Even though he'd coaxed both Natasha and Clint into doing it. Into chasing down their revenge, preventing Hydra from making more people like them. And, in the end, some Hydra agents who were familiar enough with him to know codes had called him back in. Since they first took his arm for his second escape attempt, he'd lived life terrified of what would happen if they caught him. And he'd made it a priority to never be caught again.

He didn't remember enough, not definitely at least, to be sure that was the cause. But he was pretty sure when he came back from chasing Ronin down and returned empty-handed, that it was the first time they wiped him clean. He was pretty sure they'd done it since then. Maybe they found it made him more complacent. He wasn't sure. He wasn't sure about anything anymore.

"We'll make sure they can't do that anymore."

"With what?" Bucky demanded, desperate and scared. "Pixie dust?"

Bucky felt a lot more like Humpty Dumpty than he did Peter Pan. A long, long time ago, he'd fallen over and shattered into fragments. Now, eighteen years afterwards, he was starting to put those pieces back together. But there wasn't anyone who could put him back together and keep him whole. He was broken. And he was going to be broken for the rest of his life. All the things wrong with him, all the memories missing, all the violence and the death, they weren't things he could fix. He wasn't a whole person anymore. He didn't know what he was. A cripple? He had one human arm, the other was part robot and he didn't even know how it worked let alone how it got there. Never mind how he lost it. One day, he woke up and it was just gone.

"Natasha had hers removed by a sorceress a long time ago. And I happen to know a young woman who's a pretty talented Enhanced. She's going to be here the day after tomorrow, same with Natasha and Bruce. They left a message for me here."

Bucky took a deep, shuddering breath. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm so sorry."

He didn't deserve someone like Steve fighting for his side. And he kept pushing Steve further and further away. Because someone like Bucky was a ticking time bomb, and he was going to implode. And when he did, he'd take everyone around him with him. And Steve didn't deserve that. Bucky had already put him through _enough_. He'd already ruined the man's life. He'd been married, maybe not willingly, but certainly happily. And then Bucky came back and ruined it for him.

He wished he could be like James. He wished he could be that person, that beacon of confidence and charm, but he knew he could never be. It wasn't who he was. James was made up. But even knowing that, Bucky didn't think there was anything he wouldn't give up for a chance to be James again.

"You really don't have anything to apologize for," Steve said.

And Bucky turned and realized that he did have a lot to be sorry for. There was a ring of purple bruises around Steve's neck and a shiner on his eye that was already starting to heal. Neither would probably last for very long, but Bucky knew he'd caused both of them.

"You were sleeping," Steve said firmly. "Your screaming is what woke up me and I came out to check on you. I was tired and I reached out to touch you –which is my fault. I know better than to do that."

"I didn't mean to." Bucky got to his feet unsteadily. He reached for the sink with shaking hands, fumbling once –twice, three times, before he turned the tap on cold. For a moment, he just stared at the running water.

"Bucky," Steve said, soft and gentle, the way he used to say James' name.

Steve set his hand over Bucky's, patiently guiding it away from the water. He grabbed a cloth from under the sink, running it under before turning to Bucky. He gave a slow nod, avoiding Steve's gaze as the other man carefully brushed the cloth across his forehead, down his jaw, sweeping it along his neck. Bucky found himself leaning into Steve's touch, leaning against Steve. Steve's hesitation was hardly noticeable, but it was there and just as Bucky went to pull back, Steve brushed his hair aside and slowly dragged the cloth across the back of Bucky's neck before letting him pull away.

"I should –I should go back to bed," he said, turning to leave. He wasn't tired. He wouldn't be sleeping tonight.

"Bucky…"

Steve was mad at him anyway. "No, it's fine. I'm fine. Thank you."

Steve hesitated, clearly torn. "I'm sorry too. For how I've been behaving today. You were right when you called me childish, but I was upset too."

"I might… need more help than I want to," Bucky said it quickly, forcing the words out. "I don't know who I am. I was a killer; I was a murderer, a teacher, a linguistics expert, a student of the arts, a liar and a thief. I don't know what I am."

"You're Bucky Barnes," Steve said, offering him a kind smile. "You're a veteran, a prisoner of war, a survivor of Hydra." He gestured at his metal arm. "You're a fighter. You're a brother, a brother-in-law and a brother-in arms. You're also my friend."

Bucky couldn't help the small smile that crawled onto his face. "One, uh, problem with that, Steve."

Steve blinked, taken aback. "What?"

"I only have the one arm."

The noise of disgusted outrage Steve made was worth it. Bucky laughed. And once he started, it was hard to stop.


	9. St Jude

Steve pulled out his shaving kit, staring at his reflection. The stubble itched like hell, and he looked like a car thief. But he was public enemy number one and a disguise wouldn't be amiss. He was pretty sure it was a side effect of the serum, but by tomorrow his stubble would be a full beard. He trimmed it and gave it what shape he could manage. He didn't look like Captain America, but at least he didn't look like a he was about to commit a felony either. Then again, he was pretty sure that planning on taking down a government agency did fall under one felony or another. Probably something under national security laws and treason. Well, he had always liked to be thorough. No point in breaking the minor laws when he could be branded a traitor to his country. Though, honestly, it was S.H.I.E.L.D. or rather Hydra who were the traitors. And when the smoke blew off, everyone would understand. Whether he was court martialed before or after that was the issue. Not to mention what they were going to do with Bucky.

Steve gratefully rolled up the sleeves of his button-down and walked out to the kitchen, where he found Bucky cooking. Steve had been missing wearing his own clothes the last few days. When he saw Bucky cooking, he glanced at the couch which was unmade. There were no blankets, no pillows, just two decorative cushions piled together. He felt like such an asshole for yesterday. Bucky probably hadn't even slept. If there was enough room for him on the couch to even stretch out, Steve would have been impressed. Guilt settled like lead at the bottom of his stomach. Bucky had been a prisoner of Hydra for eighteen years –Hydra probably hadn't cared where he slept or how he slept. But Steve was his friend. Steve was supposed to care and look after that kind of a thing. He was such an asshole.

Steve walked back to his room, pulling out a spare set of sheets from his closet. He was actually impressed that he had any and he snagged a pillow from his bed. He carried them out to the couch and set up the makeshift bed, laying a quilt down over the sheet. It wasn't much but it had to be better. He glanced into the kitchen, unsurprised to see that Bucky had made the table and had two cups of coffee poured. Steve was pretty sure there wasn't a more obvious sign of someone who hadn't slept all night. He took a seat at the island, just as Bucky served the pancakes, bacon and hash browns. He was just impressed that his fridge and freezer had been that well-stocked. He hadn't been here since he first returned from service. Before S.H.I.E.L.D. had even asked him to consider working with them.

Steve managed to flash him a smile, but it wasn't without effort. And he could see the way Bucky shrank back, sat down and started wolfing his food down like he was desperate to escape Steve's company. Maybe he was, Steve wouldn't blame him. Because sitting like this, with Bucky having cooked him breakfast, it was impossible not to remember the time he'd spent with James. Looking at Bucky, it was easy to forget about James. Bucky didn't move the way James had, he didn't express himself the same way. Steve thought of them as separate people. Bucky finished eating, shoved his plate into the sink and walked out of the room. Not for the first time, Steve wondered how different his life would be if he'd married the lawyer he'd met all those months ago. His burner phone gave a buzz and he pulled it out of his pocket, flipping it open to see a message from Bruce notifying Steve that Bruce and some friends would be there the same time as Natasha. Which was a relief.

It still left Steve a day to kill, alone and trapped in a small house with Bucky. After talking with Clint, Steve had been hopeful it would help make things easier but he hadn't noticed any differences. And as the day went on, he mostly caught sight of Bucky prowling through the house anxiously, keeping watch. Steve could remember the days he'd spent doing that. It had been worse when he was first back, right after losing Monty. Nearly seven years ago, he and his scouts had been captured in Iran during a routine patrol where they'd then been dragged into Syria by the Hydra guards who had captured them. Steve, Dugan and Gabe were all Alphas and had been quarantined away from the Omegas. He hadn't even known that Monty was an Omega –the other man had been taking suppressants for a long time and had kept it covered up. There was nothing any of them could do to save Monty, by the time they managed to get free; it was too late for their friend. And when they were pulled off duty due to the horrors they'd witnessed and sent back to the States to be heralded heroes, no one asked about their lone compatriot who died. Maybe it was good; Steve and the other Commandos weren't in any kind of shape to talk about Monty. But to the rest of the world, it was just another Omega who had died. Steve wasn't in a place to open up to the media about it, to draw attention, as much as he wanted to. Monty's family also asked him not to do it, wanting to protect the memory of their son and Steve had acquiesced.

He thought about living in New York, but for all his savings he couldn't afford it. He'd bought this place out on the edges of New Jersey to get away when someone had arranged an interview for him with S.H.I.E.L.D. and he gave them a different resident by accident. They never called him on it and between their help and Sam's, he ended up getting a place in D.C. as it was a lot closer to both the Triskelion and their New York HQ. He didn't spend much time here because it brought up all those memories but it functioned as a safe house well enough. The only people he'd ever talked to about it had been Natasha and Clint. And they both understood why he didn't like to come back here.

The house was empty the way Steve had felt when he'd come back. His bedroom was full of waking up with screaming nightmares, watching as Hydra tortured Monty. Watching as Hydra broke, and later, killed him. In the back of his closet were his fatigues and his dress uniform. And he was sure the medals and accolades were around here somewhere, shoved in the back of a drawer like a nightmare waiting to remind him. He hadn't thought about any of this in years and he wasn't relishing the headspace he was spiraling into. On bad days, he'd phone his therapist. He hadn't seen her in years, around the time he joined Strike Team Delta, but he occasionally needed to talk. And other times, he'd just go to Sam –as a friend. But with his situation as being one of the most wanted men in America, it wasn't like he could just call Sam up. He had no doubts that Sam would be ready and willing to help –but S.H.I.E.L.D. and now Hydra knew who Sam was. They knew Steve was friends with him and they'd no doubt since bugged his apartment.

Steve swept the rest of his breakfast into the trash and washed the dishes mechanically. Tomorrow, Natasha and Bruce would both be here. With any luck, Bruce's friends would turn out to be the Spider and the Witch. Neither of them worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. and neither of them wanted anything to do with any government agencies. Steve had met them both only a handful of times since they'd somehow gotten tangled up in Tony and Bruce's lives last year, but they seemed level-headed and good at what they could do. They were both Enhanced. Not exactly willingly, but more than that Steve couldn't really say. Neither of them were open books and their business was their own. And with that, there was at least one conversation he had to have with Bucky. Steve pushed himself to his feet, wandering out to the living room at last.

Bucky was standing in front of the arched window, staring at the tiny backyard, his arms crossed. He glanced at Steve, considering.

"Tomorrow it won't just be Natasha," Steve said, keeping his voice neutral. "Bruce and some of his friends are going to be here as well." He paused, eyeing Bucky's standoffish stance warily. "They used to be part of Hydra and when they were there they went by different names. And I just wanted to prepare you for that."

"I don't need it," Bucky scoffed.

Steve swallowed back his bubbling temper with difficulty. "When they were part of Hydra, they were known as the Spider and the Witch. Do those names mean anything to you?"

Bucky stiffened. "Believe it or not, I don't actually know everything about Hydra."

"I never thought you did," Steve snapped back, his frustration lighting up again.

"Yeah well," Bucky shrugged grumpily, staring out the window. "I'm fine. I'll meet them tomorrow."

Steve walked out the back door, standing on the patio and breathing in the fresh air. The chill in the air was almost refreshing, in the way that it helped cool his temper. He was trying to be patient with Bucky but it was so hard. Bucky wanted his space and he wanted to do everything on his own and Steve… Steve needed to feel like he was being useful. But it felt like the only good he could do was practically force his attention and help on Bucky when the other man was sleep-deprived and throwing his guts up after a nightmare. Steve absently set his hand on his neck –the bruises there had since faded to a mottled yellow-green and his shiner was already gone. He knew he couldn't help Bucky with his issues, but he wanted to make the man at least feel more at ease.

When Steve was first back, all he had was space. Plenty of space and a shortage of friends. Dugan and Gabe both had family and friends waiting for them back home. And while Michigan and Illinois weren't that far away, they certainly felt it at the time. And the other Howling Commandos had yet to make it home back then. Space turned out to be the one thing Steve _didn't_ need. He barely ate, lost nearly thirty pounds and almost stopped sleeping entirely. When he did sleep, it was filled with nightmares, watching as his comrades were killed one by and one and an inescapable cage prevented him from doing anything about it. And in the end, he ended up refashioning that cage for himself. His third month back, he'd woken to Gabe and Dugan breaking his door down and they hadn't left for that month. They made him eat, shower, exercise and go out. Dugan sent in Steve's resume to S.H.I.E.L.D. with a little convincing and then he retired back to Michigan. Gabe made Steve buy a new wardrobe for his new job and get a haircut before he returned to Illinois. And then, not a week later, S.H.I.E.L.D. called him in and Steve gratefully threw himself back into work.

Steve sighed, dragging his hand down his face. He hated this place so much. He sat down on one of the loungers. He probably hadn't slept much better than Bucky. He glanced back through the living room window, unsurprised to see Bucky had left his position. Steve drummed his fingers restlessly against the arm of his chair, ignoring the goosebumps crawling up his exposed arms. He was restless and itching to do _something_. Which what brought him to probably one of his dumbest ideas yet. But anything was better than sitting around anxiously, waiting for something to happen. He was waiting for Natasha and the others to arrive, he was waiting for Bucky to explode because it was well-past-due and he was waiting for Hydra to make a move. He was briefly thankful that he didn't have wireless or a television because if he had, he probably would have been watching that anxiously instead. He went back inside and spotted Bucky in the kitchen.

"You wanna do something?" he asked, trying for casual.

"Like what?" Bucky asked guardedly.

"I was thinking we could spar. There's enough space in the garage and I think it'd be good for us both to burn off some energy before tomorrow."

Bucky arched a brow. "Yeah, 'cause that's such a good idea after I almost killed you last night."

"Well, it's daytime now and I know to expect a fight." Steve shrugged. "Just an idea. But if you don't think your control is that good…" Maybe that was a low blow, maybe a little too low, but Steve was feeling too wired to actually feel bad about it. Bucky _hadn't_ almost killed him.

"Fuck you, my control isn't the problem."

"Oh, so you do have a problem?" Steve taunted.

"You're just looking for someone to punch your face in, aren't you?" Bucky growled. "You want a fight Rogers, you're on. Just don't whine at me when I win."

"Boy, someone's cocky. You get a few lucky hits in when a man's half-asleep and you think you can beat Captain America."

"Oooh, you save a couple people and suddenly the nation starts calling you Captain America, whoop-de-doo, some hero."

That hit a lot closer to home than Steve would have liked it to. He saved six people out of eight. Tony Start and Yinsen were the other two he was supposed to have saved and despite the fact that Tony freed himself, the news made sure Steve Rogers, the big strong Alpha, was the hero. Much to his shame and to Tony's.

"You coming or what?" Steve demanded, walking towards the garage.

It definitely wasn't the healthiest way to burn off steam, or to help relax but Steve was restless and he could see that Bucky was too. Steve pulled off his button-up, tossing it out of the way where his gear was stored. Bucky was dressed similarly in a t-shirt and sweatpants, but he spent a considerable amount of time in making a show of the fact that he was unarmed as he set aside a few knives. Steve hadn't even realized he'd been missing any from the kitchen, but he realized he had to be as Bucky set aside another steak knife. And even as he watched Bucky remove the knives, Steve felt uneasy about how Bucky had managed to carry that many knives on him without Steve even noticing.

And then they started fighting –and it was more about fighting than it was sparring. They fought hard and fast, testing each other's reflexes, figuring out how the other fought. They were sizing each other up. They were a flurry of motion –punching, blocking, kicking and dodging. There was an art to the way they moved, the elegant that sparring could bring out that wouldn't be seen in a life-and-death situation. Steve threw a punch and changed, using his forearm to block Bucky's blow, smoothly transitioning to sweep his leg towards Bucky. Bucky deftly stepped aside, releasing his hold on Steve before he was charging right back in, striking out with his left fist.

Steve quickly learned to avoid or deflect Bucky's left hand as he couldn't overpower him. But it did provide him a chance to throw Bucky and then they were exchanging a flurry of blows. Steve's fist clipped Bucky's jaw and Bucky retaliated by kicking him in his sternum and sending him flying back a few steps. Bucky just smirked and waved him back on again, tauntingly. Steve could remember only a handful of times when he was sparring with Natasha that were half as tiring as this, but those had involved full obstacle courses and plenty of strategy. This was just a brute force fight that Steve was managing to hold his own. Neither Bucky nor he were willing but neither of them were losing either. They hadn't even discussed how they would determine a winner, but either way, it felt good to work the tension and frustration out through practice.

Steve's years with the army, training and studying with the best fighters of the navy, air force and army were equally matched by the years Bucky had spent fighting and teaching others how to fight. Bucky was fast, a quick-thinker and as unwilling to lose as Steve. They traded blows, most clipping or grazing the other, but every so often one of them would land a solid hit somewhere tender and the other would break from their little formation, swearing under their breath before dodging and blocking the others' moves. Steve wasn't sure how long they'd been at it, but his hair was plastered to his forehead and his t-shirt was soaked through with sweat and he was panting with exertion. Bucky wasn't better off, his eyes darting around the enclosed room, hair damp and shirt sticking to his skin.

"Let's call it a draw?" Steve offered breathlessly.

"You too chickenshit to lose Rogers?" Bucky teased. "You are lookin' a little tired, maybe it's time to call it quits."

"I could do this all day," Steve fired back, straightening his posture. It was oddly reminiscent of when they were kids and Bucky was teaching him how to fight, or rushing in to break up a fight. Minus the asthma attacks and minus the good-natured camaraderie they'd had back then. Most of what Bucky said came with underlying barbs and he was just itching to get a hit in where it would hurt the most.

By the time they were done, it was only because their bodies were so exhausted they could hardly punch the other properly. Steve's body felt like an assortment of bruises and sweat and he felt no shame as he stole into the bathroom first to clean up. He'd left Bucky with a couple of pairs of sweatpants earlier, so he didn't feel too bad about hogging the bathroom. And he showered quick, washing the sweat off and combing his fingers through his hair before he was out of the shower and drying off. He changed into a clean set of clothes and went out to the kitchen, intending to start dinner while Bucky took his time in the shower. Then again, Bucky wasn't James. Steve didn't actually know how long it would take him.

He was halfway through cooking hamburgers by the time Bucky emerged. And he –he looked good, wearing Steve's clothes. Steve hated the way his heart clenched at that and turned away. James had been prickly about his possessions, his clothes and he didn't like to dress so casually in sweats. Steve hadn't minded. But it did something funny to him, to look at Bucky, so soft and gentle and undeniably _not_ his. And he wasn't sure whether he felt more guilty or less for looking at Bucky like that and not thinking about James. James was an afterthought, almost every time. Bucky just looked good wearing Steve's clothes.

And Steve didn't really know how to feel about that, let alone the fact that he seldom thought of James. His break-ups with people he'd been less involved with and left him distracted and heartbroken for _months_. He'd try to think about how he could have made things work, what regrets he did and didn't have. And he would cycle through those thoughts for a couple of months. And here he was, standing next to the man who had been James less than a month ago, and he didn't see James. Bucky and James were nothing alike. Steve spent more time thinking about Bucky his childhood friend than James his husband. It was all so confusing. He cursed under his breath when the hamburgers spat at him from the frying pan and he flipped them over. He didn't really know how he was supposed to be feeling, let alone what he was feeling.

In general, he was frustrated and angry. But that was the story of his life. Everything after that was a tangled mess and he didn't want to deal with it. So he didn't. He finished the hamburgers, served them up and ate in silence with Bucky. It was better than last night's awful dinner –not because of the food, but because of the heavy atmosphere between them and the fact that Steve had been trying to make a point.

"Thanks," Bucky said, under his breath as he set his plate in the sink. He paused suddenly uncomfortable with Steve's attention and pointed at the couch. "And for that." He didn't say anything else.

Bucky woke up immediately, but it wasn't because of a nightmare. He woke up, all his senses alert in the way they were when something was wrong. It took him a moment to realize what had woken him. It was pitch dark outside and as he sat up, he could hear someone shout. It took him a moment to realize that it was Steve, and by then he was already standing outside his door, hand on the doorknob. He pushed it open slowly, crouching, ready to fight only to find that Steve was alone. Steve was alone in bed, tossing and turning, his hands reaching out for someone or something. He moaned, low and agonized, thrashing against his sheets. Bucky didn't remember thinking or planning to go to his side, but he found himself hovering at Steve's side unsure of what to do. It didn't seem like the kind of nightmare Steve needed to sleep through. But while Bucky was experienced at having nightmares, he had no idea what to do to someone who was in the throes of one.

"Steve," he said, debating whether or not to touch him. He didn't exactly remember what he'd done to Steve last night, but the faint bruises around his neck showed what he had done. "Steve," he repeated, louder.

Steve twitched, "No," he slurred. "Please no, take me instead." He reached out again.

Bucky sighed softly and reassured himself that Steve would _probably_ wake up before he killed him. He grabbed Steve's shoulder and shook him. There was an explosion of movement as Steve reacted, his blue eyes wild with panic, grabbing Bucky and throwing him down onto the bed next to him. Steve was moving over him, the blankets tangling around them as Steve pressed a blade against his neck. Bucky relaxed his body, keeping very still.

"Steve," he said softly, glancing at the knife. "Steve, you were having a nightmare."

Steve didn't respond, he was breathing in shallow, quick breaths, his eyes wide. Bucky licked his lips, feeling a spike of adrenaline burn through his fear. He inhaled deep and even, his eyes on Steve's as he let his metal arm adjust, plates clicking and shifting. At the noise, Steve startled, pressing the blade in more firmly. Bucky could feel a drop of blood roll down his neck. He swallowed.

"Steve, it's me. It's Bucky. Your –I'm your friend. We're in –we're in New Jersey, waiting for Natasha and Bruce a-and the Spider and the Witch." He paused. "You're okay, you're not hurt. You just had a nightmare. And I need you to put the knife away."

Steve's whole body shook. "No," he growled, blinking rapidly. "No, s'trick."

"It's not a trick," Bucky replied slowly, fighting to keep his body still. The way Steve's blade was cutting against his neck; he didn't stand a chance at getting away without suffering a major wound. He had advanced healing benefits due to the same serum Steve had, but Bucky didn't know his limitations and right now wasn't the time to start testing them out.

"Bucky's gone," Steve said, voice hollow. Despite the way he was trying to stare a hole through Bucky's head, he wasn't really there. He was mostly still asleep, if he was even awake at all. "Gone, like Monty."

Shit. Something told Bucky the situation had just gone from bad to worse. "I was gone," he answered. "Gone for a long time, but I found my way back." Or Hydra cleaved the way for him? It didn't matter.

"No, no," Steve said, shaking his head, his hand shaking a little. "Lost 'im, like I lost Monty." And then Steve was actively pressing down against him, tilting his knife so the blade was pressed right along Bucky's jugular.

So much for hoping Steve woke up before he killed him. That was going to be really hard on him when he came back to his senses. He was going to have way more issues after murdering his long-lost best friend in a nightmare induced stupor. Or was it panic? It was hard to tell. Steve wasn't himself, that much was obvious but whether he was any degree awake or not, Bucky didn't have a clue. But regardless of that, it was obvious Steve felt like he was under attack. And the distant echoing _boom_ outside, was not helping any. Light flashed through the window from the fireworks and then disappeared. Steve didn't so much as move an inch but it was clear he was somewhere else. And Bucky didn't have a clue what to do.

"I promise you pal, I'm right here," Bucky said slowly. "Look, you've got a knife to my neck. I'm bleeding. I'm real, Steve. I'm real and I'm right here."

Another firework shot into the sky. And seriously, fuck whoever was blasting fireworks off at three in the morning. Steve wasn't deterred by the sound, but each blast seemed to cement in him the idea that he was wherever he was rather than right here and now.

"They're just fireworks," Bucky said softly.

"Let me out," Steve pleaded.

Let him out from what? And how was Bucky supposed to that when he was trapped underneath Steve?

"Okay," Bucky agreed, watching Steve in concern. "Okay, I'll let you out."

Steve's brows knitted together in confusion as he drew the knife back. Instinct took over and Bucky flipped Steve onto his back, knocking the blade out of his hand. Underneath him, Steve was struggling, panicking, and Bucky leapt off the bed, narrowly avoiding Steve's long limbs in order to grab the knife and throw it out of the bedroom. Steve didn't look calmer.

"Steve, Steve come on," Bucky said, fear edging into his voice. "It's just me. Bucky Barnes. Your friend, your pain in the ass friend. We're in your bedroom, in New Jersey and there is some _asshole_ outside setting off fireworks and I am going to _murder_ him but that's later. Steve, come on!"

Steve jerked to a halt, standing upright next to his bed, in a fighting position. "New Jersey?" he asked, disoriented.

"That's right. We're in the States, middle of the night, in New Jersey."

"I hate New Jersey," Steve said, sounding honestly confused.

"Who doesn't?" Bucky muttered. "We came here to get out of the big city for a while. Wait for our friends."

"Natasha," Steve said suddenly. "We're waiting for Natasha."

"Yeah, and Bruce. Remember?"

Steve nodded slowly, falling back to sit on his bed. "I thought –" he started, clearly confused. "I was… somewhere else."

"You've been here the whole night," Bucky reported, reaching up to wipe away the blood on his neck. "I heard you shouting so I came in to check on you."

"There was a cage," Steve admitted. "I was locked in with…" He blinked and turned towards Bucky. "It was a nightmare?"

"Yeah," Bucky said quietly. "A real bad one."

"I'm okay," Steve said after a long moment, like it hadn't occurred to him to check. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Bucky answered. "Why don't you come out to the kitchen and we can have something to drink? Watch the fireworks?" He didn't know what he was saying anymore.

"Okay," Steve replied, getting to his feet.

Bucky went out first; pocketing the knife Steve had just tried to murder him with, and got out the necessary ingredients. Early in the morning he'd gone for a walk and bought some groceries. Of which he definitely wasn't regretting buying the milk now. He wasn't sure how long the chocolate powder had been in Steve's cupboard, but it wasn't a solid lump and however cheap it was, it would have to do. Because coffee wasn't going to help either of them get back to sleep anytime soon. Steve was sitting listlessly at the table, so Bucky nervously chattered and explained what he was doing. He didn't know why he suddenly felt the urge to fill in the silence between them, but it felt like it was what he needed to be doing. He didn't want Steve to forget where he was again.

Despite how difficult it was to get along with Steve when he was always trying to figure out how to help, he wasn't a bad guy. Bucky wasn't mad at him, per se. He just wanted some space and time to figure out how to deal with everything. But looking at Steve now, shoulders hunched up, slouching on the stool, maybe it had more to do with Steve and his issues than anything else. As he waited for the microwave to finish, he scoured his memories from his time as James to see if this had ever happened before. And there'd been a time or two where Steve had nightmares, but nothing as severe as this. Mostly, Steve was up and out of bed before James even woke up. And between those memories and what he'd seen of Steve, Steve had everything together. Steve was Captain America. Of course Captain America had his life put together. But, seeing him like this, seeing him horrifically human, wasn't what Bucky wanted either. It wasn't the human element of it, of course he knew Steve was human, it was the fact that Steve wasn't himself.

"The scariest thing that happened to me, was waking up one day and not having an arm anymore," Bucky blurted out, staring at the microwave door. He could see Steve in the reflection raise his head curiously. "I'd tried running away, I was like fourteen and I just woke up one day. No arm. And then they woke me up later, and there was this thing," he said, waving his left arm. "The memories, losing them, that wasn't scary. I didn't remember, because they'd taken them away. But I was always scared that one day I'd wake up with something else missing."

Steve didn't react, but he was watching him, so at least that was something.

"I used to get these nightmares where I'd just keep waking up less and less human, more robot pieces attached until one day that's all I _was_." The microwave beeped and Bucky pulled the cup of hot chocolate out, pushing it towards Steve. "I was jealous of Clint for a while, back when I'd first met him because he didn't get any nightmares. He just had to relieve bad memories." That probably wasn't something Clint wanted him to talk about, honestly. "You know, his brother sold him to Hydra. He wasn't kidnapped like I was or most of the other kids. He was willingly given away in exchange for money. He just relieved that moment for a long, long time."

Steve stirred his hot chocolate, glancing towards him every so often. He still looked quite pale and his eyes were a little wide and spacey. Bucky didn't think he was all there yet.

"I've been such a dick to you lately, Steve and m'sorry about that," Bucky said, licking off the spoon as he put his own mug into the microwave. He felt another droplet of blood slide down his neck. At least the cut had stopped stinging as much. "I mean, it's been hard and there's so much going on. I wish I could just have a breather –I wish I could just kick Hydra's ass from here."

Another firework exploded and Bucky startled at that one, wincing when he saw how Steve had curled up even tighter. If Steve hadn't needed him right now, he would march over and murder whoever was doing this. It wasn't even a special date or something, whoever it was, was just setting off fireworks for fun. And Bucky wasn't having any fun. Judging by the look of fear that flickered across Steve's face, he was pretty sure Steve wasn't enjoying them either. Then again, Steve never had.

"I don't know how to deal with anything. I've done a lot of terrible things and you –you're Captain America. The great savior of a nation. You're the only thing keeping me alive right now. Hydra needs to use you, so with you standing in the way, they can't just snipe me out of the picture. And I feel like I'm just –dragging you down." Maybe when he had something to do, a target to seek out, he'd start relaxing a little. When they had a plan, he could stop worrying about what they were going to do next. "I'm sorry I'm such an asshole," he said, at last, as he set the timer.

He glanced towards Steve who was taking a slow drink of his hot chocolate.

"I hope that tastes alright," Bucky said, watching him.

Steve shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't know how long it's been in your cupboard." He probably should have tasted it first. What if it had been too hot? What if it had been in the cupboard for too long? Could chocolate powder even go bad? Maybe it just went stale. Maybe it was incredibly flat hot chocolate. He should have tasted it first.

"I, uh, I was on the run with Clint when I first heard about you," Bucky said, turning to watch the timer count down. If it meant he didn't have to see Steve's face directly, that was only an accidental benefit. "I knew I knew you from before. It was right around the time your tour was ending." Honestly, those memories were fuzzy from the high fever he'd been running, but they were surprisingly there, slotting into place like they'd never been missing. "They'd already been calling you Captain America for a while but something about that mission was special. They had medals to give you.

"And I remember being really proud of you. You know, you were just this… punk kid, from way back when." Bucky couldn't help the small smile. "I can't even say you were all bark and no bite, because you did bite back." Maybe not very effectively, but hey, Steve was never a quitter. "I knew you had something special in you. It didn't surprise me that you'd gone and made yourself a war hero."

He paused, thinking back to the last time he'd seen Steve. At twelve years old, Steve wasn't even five feet yet. He was as scrawny as ever, but he was determined. Bucky had always thought that if Steve stayed back, hadn't gone to Project Rebirth, he would have ended up some famous artist or protester who'd managed to achieve peace on earth. (Sue him, he was thirteen and he thought the world of Steve Rogers). He'd been absolutely convinced of that. Steve could have done a lot more for the world in a hundred different ways. His art was just starting to attract the attention of his teachers for how awesome it was, and he was as attuned with the world politics as a seventy year old was. He watched the news in the morning and again at night and he had opinions about _everything_ they said on the news. Sure, Steve was a year younger than Bucky, but he was the smartest kid Bucky had ever met.

"I always used to picture you as this artist," Bucky admitted. "You'd go and make signs to protest capitalism or to protect Omega rights, and the government hated you. But even if you were arrested, there wasn't anything anyone could do to your art because you were so important. Your art meant so much, was valued so much, you know? Like, I had this whole image of how life was going to pan out for you. And it was gonna be great. Girls were gonna be all over you and I was gonna have to beat them off for ya, since you didn't know a thing about 'em. But then you'd meet this one, she'd be a real beauty and you'd meet at some art gallery. While I wasn't there, of course, because I wouldn't know shit about art. And she'd start talking to you about how great your art was, but you'd misunderstood the whole topic or something.

"And I woulda thought it was just perfect. Two stubborn souls arguing over the political implications of a piece of art you'd drawn. She wouldn't have known it was you, of course. Not till she'd gotten you to admit you were wrong on one detail or another and that woulda been it. You were going to be so gone on her and you'd have your life all sorted out." Bucky smiled to himself.

In fact, Steve had always joked about growing up to become a political activist through his use of art. It kept him from getting into too much trouble. Instead of marching and protesting, which would have been too exhausting for his lungs, he'd stay inside and draw instead. And without fail, every time, he'd ask Bucky to go down to the protest and protest for Steve. That was only when he was really sick though, every other time he'd insist on doing it by himself. So Bucky got good at timing it just right to ask Steve if he'd make him a sign too so they could protest together. Most of the fights Steve started seemed to happen at those protests of his and as soon as Bucky started showing up with him, no one really tried to pick a fight with Steve. Some of the people started to get used to them, started asking Steve about his art. Those were the days that Bucky thought, ' _This is it, this'll be his life._ '

Steve didn't need more than that. _Bucky_ didn't need more than that. But, it turned out Steve wanted more. He wanted a real body. And while Bucky couldn't fault him for that, he made sure Steve always knew that to Bucky at least, Steve was everything. And Steve was. Later, the odd times he would or could remember Steve –he never used to have a name, it was just a face, he'd dream about a world where art stopped the violence. Before he was old enough to realize the truth, he used to lie on his bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking of everything Steve could create. He used to hope Steve would come back from Project Rebirth realizing that he didn't need more than what he had and he would go home and start making art. In his daydreams, Bucky never knew how exactly Steve would do it, but he'd create some magnificent art piece and he'd take it down to Times Square, stand right beside it in silence. And the world would look at the art, and they'd intrinsically understand who Steve was and what he stood for. And everyone would just come together. It was naïve, of course. But he used to think about that every day before he fell asleep.

"I always believed in you," Bucky said slowly, opening the microwave and taking out his hot chocolate. "I knew you'd change the world, it didn't matter what you did with your life." He took a slow sip –and he was right, it was kind of stale. But it tasted alright, despite that. He turned back to Steve, who was watching him attentively, his cup empty.

Earlier, Steve had said that Bucky was his hero. Well, back in those days, Steve had been _his_ hero. Steve was the bravest kid he'd ever met. He was small and thin and he looked like the slightest breeze could blow him over. But whenever the wind tried, he just turned into a mulish boulder that refused to move as much as an inch. Despite the fact that going to school or getting into fights could easily result in Steve dying, he never let it stop him. Nothing about his condition got in the way of him enjoying his life as much as he could. He always wanted to do more than he physically could and it often left Steve with bruises or winded. But he never let it stop him. He had bad days too, where he felt like he was an invalid, where he struggled to deal with the fact that there were things he just couldn't do. In particular, he just couldn't go rock climbing like his class did for a field trip. He wanted to do it more than anything, but he got tired too easily and his lungs never could have held up. And despite the fact that Steve was angry over it, he ended up drawing his adventures rock climbing. And making terrible jokes about what would have happened if he'd tried it. He wasn't okay with it; he accepted it and he moved on from it. And he always used to say that he could do it another time, when he felt better, when he was up to it. He didn't give up.

Steve was his hero, because how couldn't he be? Steve was brave, an eternal optimist and he never gave up. However, he was infuriatingly stubborn, bossy and nosy. But no one's hero _could_ be perfect. Steve also didn't have a selfish bone in his body and Bucky admired him like crazy for that. Steve and his mom had never been well off, and sometimes Steve just had a sandwich for lunch. But if he'd seen someone else getting their lunch stolen, he'd hand his over without a second thought. (And then get in a fistfight with the bully). Though, on those days, Bucky always split his lunch with Steve. He couldn't stop Steve from doing it –he didn't want to stop Steve from doing it, so he'd always lie and say his mom had made him extra and he'd pass it off to Steve like Steve was doing him a favor.

He loved Steve. There wasn't anyone who made him happier. He would have done anything for Steve.

"Sorry, I didn't realize chocolate powder could go stale," Bucky found himself saying. Steve looked a little livelier at least.

Whenever Steve had a bad day, his mom always made him hot chocolate. And when she wasn't around, Bucky started doing it for Steve. It was a habit. And he wondered if that was why there was a container of chocolate powder mix around, because Steve had needed it when he'd been here last. He didn't remember seeing any as James. Maybe Steve had out grown it by now?

Steve smiled a little. "Thank you," he said hoarsely, like he'd been screaming all night. Maybe he had. Bucky wasn't sure he would have noticed and that could have been what woke him up just as easily.

Another firework went off, followed by a dozen of smaller ones, bursting into colors that had Steve leaping off his stool and taking cover. Bucky wondered if this was how Steve felt, watching him go through traumatic memory after traumatic memory. Helpless and afraid for them. Bucky approached him cautiously and was relieved to see the way Steve was shaking his head, already getting back onto his feet.

"Habit," Steve muttered darkly, glaring at the sky.

"Don't go fighting the sky," Bucky said, feeling like he'd seen that look on Steve's face a million times and it had never meant anything good. "It's just your neighbors out here. Assholes."

"At least someone's having a good time," Steve said, leaning against the couch. He was looking better; there was more color in his cheeks. He didn't look like he was about to pass out. "Sorry about…"

"You don't have to apologize," Bucky interrupted. "Really. You've seen me go off the handle. We can't all be perfect. And we've all had something shitty happen to us."

"Yeah," Steve replied faintly, a faraway look in his eyes.

Another firework went off and Steve jumped, but he didn't try to run for cover. He sighed heavily, running a hand through his already mussed hair. It would have been a good look on him, if it was intentional, if he hadn't just gone something quite upsetting to him.

"You wanna stay up and play tic-tac-toe? I'm not going to be able to sleep through this racket."

"Sure," Steve answered and he sounded relieved.

Bucky flashed him a smile. "I'm so gonna own your ass, Rogers."

Steve snorted, rolling his eyes. "You wish you could."

Thirty-seven rounds of tic-tac-toe later and the sun was coming up. Steve was passed out on the couch, sleeping deeply. The fireworks had tapered off somewhere around four-thirty in the morning and Steve had fallen asleep not long after. Bucky didn't want to jinx the rest of his sleep so he didn't even try going to sleep, knowing he was already hours overdue a nightmare. He didn't really feel all that tired though. He felt better than he had in a long, long time. It felt like the world made a little more sense.

And it felt like, for all the awful things he'd done in his life, to the world, he'd made up for it somehow by helping Steve Rogers fall asleep. He smiled to himself and shook his head. He wished doing that was somehow enough to make up for all the things he'd done. Maybe Clint had a point, maybe he needed to find something he could do to make up for all the bad he'd done. Because as much as he had no choice, he had other solutions he could have taken. None that would have brought him to this place and time, to this moment, stretched out beside Captain America, breathing even to help keep him asleep and relaxed. It was something he'd done when they had sleep overs that Steve's mom had taught him. Breathing deep and even next to Steve, Steve would automatically adjust his breathing habits and it was better for his lungs when he was sleeping.

Bucky froze. He didn't –how did he know that? He hadn't remembered, except he had. That was why he'd stretched out next to Steve as they played around four forty-five in the morning, breathing slowly and evenly to lull Steve to sleep. Because Steve was always grumpy and short-tempered and a nightmare when he didn't have enough sleep. Of course, the good memories just slipped in to fill in the gaps, quietly in the dark when he was busy worried about screwing up Steve's psyche. And maybe it was the memories; maybe that was why everything felt different. He didn't feel so angry or lost or confused. He'd lost his parents without getting to know them, but he still had Steve and Rebecca.

He shook his head. Rebecca was married. His little sister had gotten married without him there. But he had time to make up for those lost moments. For all the times he couldn't be there for the both of them. They were the only family he had left in this world, and he wasn't going to let either of them go without a fight. Somehow, the memories he had as James didn't feel as bad either. He'd loved Steve as a kid; it wasn't a surprise that some part of him had fallen in love with him as an adult. James' feelings had been no less fake than young Bucky's. Which… where did that leave him? Destined to fall in love with Steve? He didn't believe in that. And while the memories of James were easier, he didn't feel any better about what that must have done to Steve.

Bucky looked down at the man sleeping in his arms and decided he really did want to make up for what he'd done. And it felt only right if he started with helping Steve defeat Hydra once and for all. And after that, he'd deal with whatever happened then. With wherever that left him. He was pretty sure that even if they did stop Hydra, he was still going to have to deal with Tony Stark and the rest of the world. And then, it would be up to them.


	10. Fear and Loathing

Bucky woke up first, saving him from the dilemma of figuring out whether to be grateful or not for that fact. At least he didn't have to try and explain to Steve why he was spooning him. Unfortunately, getting up without waking Steve turned out to be the bigger challenge. But he managed. He smiled to himself, remembering that when they were kids Steve used to be an awful octopus at night. With all his medical conditions, he got cold very easily and it never mattered how many blankets they used, Bucky always woke up first to find Steve wrapped around him. Between the small couch and their bigger bodies, he wasn't actually surprised that Steve couldn't cuddle him appropriately. What he didn't know was whether he missed that or not. It was so different from the last few days. He didn't feel like a different person, but it was almost like remembering his childhood had eased some of the burden he wasn't aware he'd been carrying. He didn't feel as restless or as angry.

He still couldn't stand to think about the awful things he'd done. He hated to think about Hydra, because the memories were as horrific and awful as they'd ever been but the wounds didn't feel as fresh anymore. As open and bleeding. He walked towards the bathroom, running a hand through his hair. He'd spent so long as Hydra's assassin, he didn't need to keep letting them win. Keep ruining his life. He glanced back towards Steve. He didn't want to have to go back to whatever they'd been these past few days. He could vaguely remember his friendship with Clint, the sarcasm and cynical taunts they threw each other, the way they packed up and disappeared on the streets of New York. Mostly he could remember what his friendship with Steve was like. He could remember being a good person, when he was one. He fought with Steve, prevented Steve from dying through sheer stupidity and they didn't fight with barbed words and cutting knives. He missed that. He missed having friends like them. And as angry as he was, he wasn't angry at Steve or Clint or anyone other than himself.

Because, one thing no one else alive knew, was how he'd been captured by Hydra. That was his secret. If Steve knew, Steve would never forgive himself. And Bucky was allowed to be angry at himself, _angry_ about what he'd done. He didn't need to sit in front of a shrink and hear them parrot it at him. He was pretty sure that'd be one of the shrink's demands anyway. He'd never been to one, so he couldn't say for sure. He didn't need to _talk_ about it with anyone, though he had no doubt Steve would ask questions. Steve wouldn't press and he'd be careful, but Bucky knew Steve. And Steve was going to have about a million questions. He always did. The trick was going to be keeping Steve from asking them.

Bucky started the shower and he waited until the mirror was fogged up before he stepped under the hot spray of water. He couldn't remember much of his escape from Hydra, of the –he was pretty sure it was years? –he'd spent away from them, but he knew this was something he enjoyed. He let himself lean against the shower wall, enjoying the hot water running across his skin. He washed, slow and precise, luxuriating in the time and indulgence he had. When he was done, dried off and dressed in a clean set of Steve's clothes, he headed out to the living room to see Steve was still sprawled across the couch, snoring. Bucky chose to take it as a sign of Steve's trust in him, because otherwise he would be worried. Anyone could kill him in his sleep, although maybe last night said more about that than anything else. After his traumatic late night, it was probably better to let him sleep. Bucky walked outside, barefoot, and sat on the porch, taking a moment to appreciate the stillness of the morning.

He felt weird, like someone had slipped him some good drugs but he knew it was just the memories. The happy stuff, the good stuff. Feeling this good felt like a really, really nice dream. One he didn't want to wake up from. He'd never felt like he was walking on clouds before, but he certainly felt it now. He ran a hand through his damp hair absently, breathing in the cool chill. He could remember spending a hundred mornings like this with Steve next to him. It was usually early spring then and they'd sneak out onto the fire escape to watch the sun rise and the city come to life. On the really good days, he'd fall asleep against the railing and wake up to find that Steve had sketched him. That he could be as important to Steve as the sunrises they could barely see, as the cars and people bustling around like ants from their vantage point, never failed to amaze him. And he wasn't ashamed to make sure Steve knew that was how he felt, if it came out mostly teasing. Their parents used to joke about them getting married, before either of them hit puberty, before their orientations became apparent. That had been hard to deal with, finding out he was an Omega and so was Steve. He wasn't ever quite sure why that was such a challenge to him, but in retrospect, with all of James' memories, it was obvious. He hadn't known it then, because he was a child and had all the innocence of a boy. But, he'd been in love with Steve. And some part of him had dreamed or assumed that in their future, they'd always be together. Because it made sense, Steve was his everything.

Steve wasn't all he had now though. He had a lot of skills and talents and he had friends. Clint and Natasha. Maybe when this was all over, he would be able to join the CIA or the FBI and catch some villains, hunt down Hydra for real, with a real team and back-up. He didn't want to fight, but if he had to fight, that he do it to protect people seemed as good a reason as any. Outside of that, he had no idea what he wanted to do. He was good at fighting; he was good at killing people. He was good at looking after Steve. He wasn't sure what else he was good at doing outside of that. And it wasn't like the Avengers were going to show up and ask him to join. He was friends with half of them sure, but it wasn't like Banner had a great record with Hydra and that wasn't even mentioning Stark. Stark whose parents he had killed. And while those memories hadn't returned to him, he was pretty sure he'd been behind it. If one of the Avengers didn't want him, they'd never take him. And what good would he do there? He could protect Steve, sure, but a whole team of people? They already had one sniper. And while Bucky could do a lot more than just shoot at people from great distances, he wasn't special. Not like Steve.

And that was assuming everything with Hydra worked out, assuming that he could survive public persecution for being an assassin. Last he was aware, assassins usually ended up shot and left for dead in black boxes. Steve would do whatever he could to stop that from happening, and if it did happen, well, it would probably kill him. Then again, Steve had survived eighteen years not knowing whether or not he was alive. But Bucky knew if the government had a hand in it, if Steve had so much as an inkling of suspicion that the government was involved, pretty soon they'd feel the need to do the same to Captain America. Bucky smiled bitterly to himself. That was partly true, he imagined, with the Alpha Council trying to protect his genetics. Maybe they'd step up to the plate and do something to defend Steve. Not to mention the rest of the Avengers. Then again, Steve was more or less their leader. Bucky could remember hearing about the Battle of New York; he remembered what they had to say about Steve. It was entirely possible that if Steve went up against the government, the Avengers would back him up.

He heard the crunch of gravel under tires and he was on his feet, back in the house, before he even realized it. He brushed the kitchen curtain aside, peering out to see a sleek black convertible pull up and park. Bucky reached towards the knives before recognizing the redhead who stepped out. He sighed in relief and watched as the passenger door swung open and Clint got out next. He looked way worse than how'd they left him two days ago, bandages stuck to his face and limping towards their front door. He turned to tell Steve only to find that Steve was already sitting up, phone in hand.

"It's Natasha and Clint," he confirmed, smiling sleepily.

Bucky got the door, letting them both in. Up close, Clint looked even worse. There were dark circles under his eyes. "Is there coffee?" he asked. "Please tell me there's coffee."

"There's coffee," Bucky said, feeling almost guilty. "Someone still has to make it though."

Clint moaned in despair and slouched over to the coffee pot, silently going through their cupboards until he found what he was looking for. Bucky was more impressed with the way he could slouch from one room to another than with his searching skills. Natasha appeared in a much better condition than Clint. Her hair and clothes were pristine and while there was a tight press to her lips and a pinch around her eyes, she looked the best of them all.

"You're not even dressed," she informed Steve disparagingly. "I'd be disgusted if I didn't know you better."

"I slept in," Steve said, his shoulders drawing up a little defensively. If he wasn't in a room full of master assassins, it might have gone unnoticed. As it was, the only one who didn't see it was Clint.

"Whaaaat," Clint drawled exaggeratedly from the stool he was perched on, his eyes glued on the coffee machine. "Cap, sleeping in?" He gasped. "Say it ain't so! The world's probably gonna end and it'll all be because of you."

"Shut it," Steve said fondly, smiling. "At least I'm out of bed before noon."

"That's just sacrilegious," Clint replied flippantly. "A man needs his rest. Especially if he was up saving the world, or you know, the tristate area, whatever, the night before."

"Because you save the world so often," Natasha said loftily, tossing her hair over her shoulder. Somehow, it seemed longer than when he'd last seen her. By which, when he was trying to assassinate Steve not from her time as a modified ballerina.

"I do," Clint said, turning to face her with a pout.

"How are you even here, Clint? Not that I'm not grateful but we were waiting for Natasha before we dealt with saving Agent Coulson."

"Been there, done that," Natasha answered. "Stopped by to pick up Clint before Rumlow or anyone else could beat his head in."

"My head _is_ valuable," Clint pointed out.

"He has a concussion doesn't he?" Steve asked, chuckling.

"Yes," Natasha said. "A few hours ago, he had a dislocated shoulder too and his ribs are probably a little bruised right now."

"Pfft," Clint said, turning back to the coffee pot. "They were amateurs. You don't dislocate a man's shoulder unless you don't know what you're doing. Start with the fingers."

Bucky shook his head. "Watching it won't make it brew any faster." He wasn't going near the torture conversation with a ten foot pole. He'd lived enough of it. And honestly, so had Clint.

"It makes me feel better."

"It's gonna take longer the more you watch it."

"Glad to see you're feeling better," Clint said, deflecting the issue easily.

"Nice to see you not forcing Steve to punch you out," Bucky replied.

"Eh, what's a punch between friends?"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Phil is safe. He's going to be doing some work from the inside. I took out the man they had on him."

Steve glanced at her. "Took out like arrested or…"

Natasha arched an eyebrow. "He's in the clear now and he's been trying to start work since Tony sent out his broadcast. But with the traitor in the way, it was quite challenging. So I dealt with him. He's going to be our inside contact and spring the trap once we're ready for him."

"I didn't even get to talk to him," Clint muttered petulantly.

Bucky snuck up on him and had the satisfaction of flicking the back of his ear. He was nice, he used his flesh fingers, but it was more than enough to send Clint tumbling off the stool. Mostly because when Clint 'sat' on a stool or a chair, he either sat on it backwards, or he perched like the dainty bird he definitely wasn't. It was nothing they hadn't done to each other hundreds of times over. It was practically fun to do, considering the amount of time they'd both spent down with the Interrogators at Hydra. Clint was still a trained assassin and before then he had years in the circus. He never actually hit the floor, but he gave a grunt of pain when he moved wrong as he settled back on his feet.

"That was my bad ear, you ass!" Clint snapped, punching his shoulder.

"Like you haven't done worse," Bucky drawled, leaning back against the counter, ignoring the pleased smile Steve was wearing.

"Name one time!"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe when you stole my _arm_?"

"Oh fuck you," Clint huffed, laughing. "It wasn't even attached!"

"You still stole it!"

Bucky couldn't remember who he'd been fighting, or why, but he remembered the way they'd managed to destroy his arm. There was only so much pressure and damage the arm could take and it had hurt like hell, but the Enhanced had managed to separate his metal arm. Not from the socket thankfully, but from the elbow down, he'd lost his arm. His handlers had called him back in and he returned, furious, with his arm in hand. He'd handed it over to the scientists who needed to recreate it from what was left of it. And that night, Clint broke into the labs (no small feat on its own) stole his arm, and set it next to his face so it was the first thing he saw when he woke up. Clint was probably sixteen or seventeen and Bucky was pretty sure it was retaliation for when he'd stolen Clint's swords and bent them out of shape. Duquesne had funny ideas about that, and he'd made Clint spend two days reforging the swords because Duquesne thought Clint needed to learn how to respect his blades more. So it wasn't exactly undeserved.

Bucky might have been just over twenty, still practically a kid along with Clint back then. And they'd both been in an impossible situation. He knew it wasn't exactly a normal bonding experience, but they found what fun they could. Mostly through annoying the hell out of the other. Clint got him out of his dangerous head space, where he lived like a robot to follow orders. It made his life easier, but it didn't make it enjoyable. For the first time that he could remember since his missing time in Russia or before that, he started to feel human. Somehow, being able to recall that it was Natasha all those years ago who brought out his humanity in the form of overprotectiveness didn't seem so surprising when she was in the room next to Clint. But, he had to admit, it was disturbing to think about the fact that three ghosts from his past were buddy-buddy.

"Children," Natasha said, shaking her head like she knew why they were fighting. Or maybe it was more that she had no interest in them doing it. It was hard to tell with her.

The coffee pot beeped and Clint whooped loudly, breaking the moment. "Coffee's ready!" he announced, grabbing a cup.

"Aw, Clinton, showing manners to impress your friends, I'm almost impressed," Natasha teased. "Usually he drinks it from the pot."

"Phil lets you get away with that?" Steve asked, actually sounding offended. "I can't see that."

Clint sighed. "Hey, I'm here, respecting your good hospitality." As if to prove the point, he poured himself a mug of coffee. "You don't get to bring Phil into this."

Natasha smirked. "That means Phil doesn't let him get away with it," she supplied.

Clint flipped his middle finger up, taking a long drink from his black coffee. Somehow, standing in a room full of people he'd known when they were children and teenagers made him feel incredibly old. And he'd missed most of the important events of their lives; either that or he simply didn't remember them. But he didn't think he'd met Agent Coulson before his stay in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s infirmary. And he didn't know how Natasha had gone from a rogue Red Room agent to working for S.H.I.E.L.D. Something told him Clint's story revolved around Agent Coulson. And Steve, Steve he knew virtually nothing about. They hadn't sat down and had a real conversation. That realization alone burned and suddenly Bucky half wanted to chase Clint and Natasha out, because he had questions he needed to ask Steve. Obviously Steve had survived Project Rebirth, obviously its intended effects had worked –but where did Steve go after that? He'd said he hadn't known about Bucky going missing, which wasn't a surprise considering…

He didn't know how he could have that conversation with Steve. Because there was no way to have it without thinking about what led to his capture. And if he thought about it, Steve would know. So, for the moment, he let it go and leaned back against the counter. He listened to the three of them exchange stories and banter and reveled being able to feel like a human again. It was pretty obvious his sudden change in disposition hadn't gone unnoticed, because every so often he would catch Steve smiling at him.

Maybe he didn't have to tell Steve just yet.

By the time Bruce, Wanda and Gwen arrived Bucky and Clint were in the middle of arguing about lunch while Steve took a shower. Clint seemed determined to order pizza, like he always was, and Bucky was trying to convince him that it was better to cook to impress. Clint was apparently of the opinion that pizza alone was an impressive feat. Steve couldn't help the easy smile that seemed glued to his face today. As far as he knew, since James had… left, this was the most relaxed he'd seen Bucky. He wasn't the carefree, exuberant boy of Steve's memories and he wasn't the suave and charming James either. And Steve couldn't express how grateful he was that, at least for today; Bucky wasn't brooding angrily, waiting to pick a fight. Bucky seemed lighter, less trapped inside his head. And it was a good look on him.

"James seems to be doing well," Natasha commented, standing beside him. She paused a fraction of a second, likely reading the wince in his body language. "Sorry. To me he was James, I forgot he's… Bucky."

"He's doing a lot better today," Steve agreed.

"But you aren't?" It was poised like a question, but it was anything but.

"I had a rough night last night," Steve admitted, watching the others gathered around in the kitchen. "I don't remember much of it."

He wished he did because he was terrified he'd done something stupid. He'd checked his room and he _knew_ his knife was missing. But Bucky hadn't said anything. And there was the fact that he'd woken up on the couch, not in his bedroom. He remembered being afraid and desperate in equal measures, but not much beyond that. It was all a blur. He probably hadn't had a nightmare then, it had to have been a flashback. And he hadn't had those since he'd come back from his tour. Which meant there were only a handful of incidents he could have relieved, ones that were traumatic enough he'd blocked out the whole night. The most likely culprit would be the flashback where he was stuck watching Monty die. And those were never pleasant and ended up with someone hurt. But Bucky hadn't been avoiding him and he showed no sign of injury, though it was possible with his advanced healing that there weren't any signs to show. He hoped that was all it was. He didn't want to be wrong.

Clint and Bucky's argument ground to a stop when Bruce walked into the kitchen and started taking out ingredients. Bucky shot Clint a triumphant smirk over Bruce's head and Clint huffed and rolled his eyes. Wanda and Gwen were still in the living room, sitting on the couch, holding the other's hand. Steve wasn't sure if that was normal for them or not, but the two of them struck him as being loners. They liked being alone. Steve could only imagine that seeing the Witch in a plain black dress, with her hair neatly pulled back was as weird to him as it was for her to see him with a beard and wearing sweat pants. He didn't think they'd ever seen each other outside of their uniforms in the middle of battle. And until today, he'd never seen Gwen's face.

He turned to Natasha slowly. "Do you think it'll work?"

Natasha leaned ahead, peering into the living room, her gaze skimming across the women. "Yes," she answered simply. "Her mentor was the woman who pulled the codes from my head."

Steve nodded uneasily. "That's good."

"She will be far kinder than her predecessor," Natasha added. "She won't be altering his state, just removing the collars Hydra left in his brain."

Wanda had shook Bucky's hand briefly on meeting him and they'd agreed that they would get to the codes once they had a plan lined up on what they were going to do about Hydra and S.H.I.E.L.D. and the fact that the entire government was trying to capture them. According to Gwen, the three of them had left to Ontario for some science convention and by the time they saw Tony's announcement, they didn't have a way to get in contact with him. And thankfully for the both of them, Hydra and the Red Room were unaware of their current freedoms. The three of them, naturally, snuck out of Canada without notice and spent the next three days straight driving. They slept in shifts and kept to drive-thru food in order to make it. They were just leaving Vermont and heading into New York when Natasha called and told them to head to New Jersey instead.

Steve wasn't surprised when Clint wandered out of the kitchen, grumbling under his breath about cranky green rage monsters and shortly after Bucky followed, looking surprised. According to Tony, Bruce could be quite particular in the kitchen. But when lunch was ready, it was definitely worth it. And Steve still wasn't sure how he had accumulated enough groceries for any of this, unless Bucky had somehow managed to go shopping without his noticing, but Bruce served up a plate of fajitas and a platter of veggies. There wasn't enough room for them all in the kitchen, so Steve packed the stools into the living room. The couch was quickly taken over as female territory as Natasha joined Gwen and Wanda. Bruce sat down on a stool across from the women, next to Clint who was seated in the armchair. Bucky sat on Clint's other side on a stool, leaving Steve to sit at the border of the kitchen and living room. He didn't mind, from this angle he could see everyone.

"I tried to get in touch with Tony," Bruce admitted. "But I couldn't even get hold of Jarvis or Pepper."

"Which is weird," Gwen supplied. "They're like always there. No matter what."

"Last time Stark went off the deep end, both of them were still reachable." Wanda paused. "Granted, that situation was different."

Steve surveyed his living room, stuffed full of superheroes. Natasha, Clint and Bruce he was most familiar with their skill sets. He had an idea of what Bucky was capable of, but he was pretty sure he didn't know everything. Wanda, he was more familiar with after the events that unfolded last year. Her telekinetic powers were so great they couldn't be measured –Tony had in fact stated that he didn't ever want to find out, because if his guess was right, she had the potential power to rewrite history. And that had led into a long discusses about space and time quantum physics that Steve had been regretfully unable to escape. Gwen he knew considerably less about. She had been present last year too, but she mostly kept anyone from interfering with Wanda and launching herself off the Hulk like an acrobat.

"Steve and Bucky are too noticeable right now," Natasha said, gesturing to them. "Although the beards are a good disguise, the media's too hot right now."

"We could use a good distraction," Steve agreed. "But I don't know what we can do with it."

"Oh there are a lot of things," Gwen said brightly. "You could break into the White House with the right kind of distraction."

"We aren't trying to kill the president," Bucky laughed. "But thanks for the offer."

"You know," Natasha said slowly, "that's the kind of threat that would buy you time."

Steve was about to explain why that was a bad idea, when there was a knock at his door. Instantly, everyone was on alert. Natasha slowly peered out the curtain and gave a huffed laugh that sounded more like a sigh of relief. Steve and everyone else crowded over and when Steve saw who it was, his reaction was similar. Because standing at his front door, wearing a pair of sunglasses and a snug leather jacket was undoubtedly Nick Fury. Steve wanted to ask how Fury had even found his house, since it was _off S.H.I.E.L.D.'s records_ but he realized the more pressing question was about the fact that Fury was even still _alive_. Steve went to answer the door but Clint beat both him and Natasha to it. He smiled at them both, a half-smile, and opened the door.

"How do I know I can trust you?" Clint demanded his voice barely audible to Steve in his small house.

"You trusted me before," Fury replied smoothly, but there seemed to be a weight in the conversation between them.

Clint stepped aside and Fury walked into view. Despite his obvious injury –his arm in the sling, for one –he actually looked to be in good shape for a dead man. Steve turned to Bucky belatedly only to find that Bucky had tilted his head to the side, staring at Fury thoughtfully.

"How did you survive?" Natasha demanded. "I was there. I saw them take your body."

Fury tipped his head in Bruce's direction. "The good doctor made one hell of a tranquilizer to stop his green problem. Didn't work so great on him. But it helped keep my heart pumping so slow, it looked like I was dead to the doctors."

"Everyone just loooves faking their deaths," Clint muttered, returning to his seat. Steve figured Clint had more reason than most to hate faked death scenarios.

Fury rolled his eyes and gingerly brought the last stool over, sitting on it next to Steve. "And I knew about this place because I am a smart man. And Coulson never stops digging. We kept it off the records, Rogers, but we knew you'd come out here once a weekend for a few years."

"Surprisingly, that doesn't make me feel better," Steve sighed.

"Then you can at least be grateful I'm here." Fury looked around the room and Steve realized this had to be normal for him, looking at a room full of crowded superheroes. He didn't even give Bucky a second glance. "What's your plan?"

"One team to create a distraction, enough of a way for Bucky and I to get in, and another team to back us up and someone to handle the media." Steve paused reluctantly. "We really need to get the media on our side."

"I'm not the one for that job," Bruce said, shaking his head.

"Think bigger," Fury said. "We have Phil and Stark. Both of them are waiting for the right moment to do something."

"Tony isn't going to do anything if Pepper's in danger," Bruce replied evenly.

Steve was always impressed by how effective Pepper and Bruce were together, even though he knew there was a mess of broken hearts between the three of them. Even though Tony and Bruce were together, Tony and Pepper had been _something_ even before Steve was brought into the picture –thankfully, briefly. The few times he'd been around all three of them, it had been surprising to watch the way they corralled and bossed Tony around. And Tony let them, with a certain about of griping, of course.

"Stark's already got a rescue plan in motion," Fury said. "Phil can handle the media, but it'll take him time. He's contacting those that he knows aren't Hydra, those that he trusts. Sitwell, Hand and Hill are helping him on that. He's got May for back-up. He just needs a sign to start fighting back."

"We can give him one," Clint said, grinning. "I know just the place."

"Natasha could bring me in, make a big show of it," Steve said slowly, an idea forming in his head. "That way, I'm in the building. It's not like they can kill me in front of cameras or witnesses. They'll broadcast it everywhere. And Bruce, if you're willing? You could put on a show. Let the Other Guy out. Once I'm in, I can get the word out. The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents have to have started noticing something weird is going on. They might not all listen to me, but we should try and save them. Before Pierce does something worse. "

Bruce didn't look happy about it. "He's protective of you Steve. I can't guarantee he won't demolish the entire building, let alone the city."

"I can help with that," Wanda said. "If you'll let me. I can put some minimizers on, redirect him, and keep the rage to a minimum. If it gets really bad, I can pull you out until we get to a containment zone."

"Last time –" Bruce started to say, weariness creeping into his tone.

"This won't be like last time," Wanda said firmly. "Gwen will be there. If it gets rough, she can tag-team me out or in. Distract him long enough to prevent… that."

"I can do that," Gwen said. "The Other Guy _likes_ me, after all." She smiled, strained and awkward.

Bruce looked between the two of them and nodded reluctantly. "I don't like it. But it'll work."

"With him causing mayhem, they'll put the Triskelion on evacuation alert. And during an evacuation alert, even the prisoners get moved. Someone will have to take me out of the cells –and as far as I know, no one's built anything strong enough to keep me down long. If we time it right, Bruce's appearance can draw more attention to my situation and keep Hydra from killing me quietly. And I can use this time to call out Pierce, get the good guys out."

"And what am I supposed to do?" Bucky asked, low and quiet. "Because if you think I'm sitting this out Rogers, you're mistaken."

Steve paused. If Bucky got involved, the risk was a lot higher that he might never see him again. If Bucky came with him, they might just shoot him on sight.

"How do you plan to stop Pierce?" Fury asked. "He'd lock himself tight in his room, take the emergency elevator down and escape out the back. Only Alpha members can open those doors once they're closed."

"You and Nat," Steve said. "You could take care of that." That was real spy work, not soldier work.

"You know about Pierce?" Bucky asked, and from the way his voice quavered, he sounded a little scared.

Fury scowled darkly. "I found the footage he deleted of you. It was locked to Alpha level clearance. Showed you taking the elevator with Rumlow, up to his office. Wasn't hard to work out how you escaped without being seen after that. And then you showed up and beat the hell out of my car. So if you mean know that he's Hydra scum? Yeah, figured that one out pretty recently."

"How do we make sure to get rid of the heads?" Natasha asked, cutting across Bucky and Fury's silent conversation. "We need to access their logs, figure out where they've been keeping the Omegas… we need to stop them."

"No mistakes this time," Bucky added. "I can help with going through their data. I know their codes, how they…"

"Release it," Steve said suddenly. "Release all the information. It's the only way."

"You don't mean to –Cap," Fury said, and it was almost pleading in the strength of his disbelief. "We're the only organization looking after Omegas."

"So build something new," Steve said firmly. "I know it's been done before, back when S.H.I.E.L.D. was the Strategic Scientific Reserve. We build again. But we can't do that until we find Hydra, get rid of them once and for all. It'll be the fastest way to get the information." He hesitated. "We'd need someone relaying all the base locations, to the CIA, FBI, MI-6, anyone who will listen. Hell, the United Nations." He glanced at Bucky.

"He can do that from my brother's place," Clint said. "I've set them up with a panic room and a hell of a communications site." He shrugged, only barely wincing. "I've got nephews and a niece."

Bucky bristled unhappily. "What if they have Hydra agents too?"

"You and Clint can sort that out. Find those discrepancies if there are any, deal with them as they come up. They won't have agents everywhere."

"If that's what you want," Bucky said, a little stiffly.

"I'm sorry," Steve said genuinely. "You're too recognizable otherwise. If I brought you in with me, I don't think they would hesitate to murder you. The media wouldn't care. They don't know you. And Natasha is the best actress, spy, I've ever seen."

Bucky breathed out slowly. "I know," he admitted. "I don't like it."

"For all we know, they might send someone after me," Clint added. "I don't want anything to happen to my –family." He crossed his arms. "And they aren't going to be happy to know I skipped out on them again."

"So you want me to keep you safe, is that it?" Bucky drawled, arching an eyebrow. "You need me to babysit you Barton?"

"Fuck off," Clint threw at him, but there was no heat to his words.

There was an ease and familiarity between the two of them that made something in Steve ache. He missed being able to be friendly with Bucky. And of course it was the second Clint showed up, Bucky was suddenly much more at ease. Maybe something had gone wrong last night? Steve wouldn't be able to ask until, well, he wasn't entirely sure when. Hopefully soon.

"When are we doing this?" Natasha asked.

"I want to catch them off guard," Fury added.

Steve turned to Wanda. "How long will it take you to remove those codes? And how long does Bucky need to recover?"

Wanda pursed her lips, considering it. "Maybe a few hours, eight at the most, to get them all, depends on how many there are. And his recovery? Twelve hours and he should be good to go, but if it's rough, add a few to that timeline." Wanda glanced at Bucky. "Also, depending on what I find, I might need Gwen's help with his arm."

"My arm?" Bucky asked incredulously. "What about it?"

Gwen's expression darkened for a moment, a faraway look to her eyes, a frown on her face and Steve was suddenly reminded that despite her youthful appearance, she _was_ an assassin. "We learned the hard way," she said icily. "We learned that Hydra likes to leave booby traps behind. The codes won't have been enough insurance. They may have rigged your arm to explode or shut down or inject poisons."

Wanda reached over, setting her hand over Gwen's. "It's okay," she murmured softly, pressing a light kiss to the other woman's temple.

"We'll get them," Gwen said firmly, practically glaring Bucky down. "I might not be Tony Stark, but this… this, I know a little about. Enough to neutralize the threats. I won't be able to make you a new arm or anything shinier or faster. I can't make those repairs, but I can disable whatever they might've done to you."

Whatever had happened to her, Steve didn't want to ask. Apparently, Bucky must have agreed too because he just nodded silently.

"In five days, we attack," Steve said. "Hydra doesn't know where we are. They don't know Bucky has remembered anything. It'll give us enough time to prepare some gear, for Bucky to recover and leave him and Clint plenty of time to get to Indiana." He'd have at least three days with Bucky before he left for Indiana. Hopefully that would be enough time for Bucky to recover from Wanda and whatever Gwen might need to do.

Fury didn't stay much longer after that, instead promising he'd see them when this mess was over. He left, apparently to go meet and coordinate with Hill. Steve was relieved to hear that she wasn't involved in this mess either. Natasha and Clint both left to see about motel rooms that would deal with them all. Bruce pulled out a Starkpad and apparently hacked into one of Steve's neighbours' Wi-Fi to pour over maps of Washington, D.C.

In five days, Steve would be back in Washington, D.C. letting Natasha bring him into the Triskelion. She would claim that she had found him; brought him in to save him from himself and the assassin he thought he was in love with. It would be done publically –apparently there paparazzi loitering all through D.C. to try and catch sight of him or the infamous Winter Soldier. Bruce would be nearby and happen on the scene –he would immediately Hulk out, refusing to see his friend taken to prison or worse. It would become a public spectacle. Natasha would get Steve inside and S.H.I.E.L.D/Hydra would have no choice but to ask Stark for help. It would bring Stark into the plan and as dangerous as it was, it would leave him to win the media over it. Which he hopefully could do without antagonizing them. While Steve was brought in, the Hulk would have to attempt to follow and Wanda was certain she could do this with only minimal damage. It would trigger their emergency systems. By then, Natasha would be on her way to Pierce because the orders as they stood were to report to him directly if anyone saw or brought Steve in.

By then, Fury would be landing and heading into the building. Natasha was a powerful asset to S.H.I.E.L.D. and a better bargaining chip for Hydra. They could use her to negotiate with the Red Room and Hydra _always_ negotiated. Pierce would be certain to let her in –and if he didn't, Natasha and Fury had discussed the ways she could break in. Mainly by using some new S.H.I.E.L.D. tech that someone named Fitz-Simmons had made. It would take Pierce approximately ten minutes to escape the building, as he had to take the stairs available only to him. No one would be flying unless it was to serve as a distraction for the Hulk –the Hulk hated helicopters and jets especially. Steve couldn't blame him. While they were converging on Pierce, someone would have to come and get Steve to transfer him. He would fight his way out, make his way to the nearest radio set and alert everyone to what was going on. He would change the channel on his comm system to connect him with Clint –Bucky would be scouring the data for information on Hydra agents hidden within S.H.I.E.L.D. and passing the news to Clint who would spread it to Steve. Phil would have one of his team doing the same, passing names of loyalists that Phil had ascertained were good and Steve would start weeding Hydra out.

Phil would be calling a press conference, informing people that due to the death of their Director, he was the one in charge and as such he had news for them. He would have to explain the situation and finagle the press into believing him and keep them from investigating the Triskelion as things progressed. The further away civilians were the better for everyone involved. It would also allow Phil to adjust to his new position, as Fury called it. Apparently, Fury had plans to divide S.H.I.E.L.D. in half. He would let Coulson operate in front of the cameras and keep the majority of their forces in his reach, while Fury went undercover to help deal with Hydra. Hill would be left to communicate between Phil and Fury's forces and be there to offer the Avengers help when they needed it.

Bucky moved to the couch uneasily, looking between Wanda and Gwen uncertainly.

"Let's start with my arm?" he asked, hesitantly.

"I can do that!" Gwen said reassuringly, pulling a toolkit out of her purse. "I promise, I carry this around with me all the time, it's not special for you or anything."

If anything, Bucky appeared less reassured. Steve set about collecting what few remaining dishes there were and washed everything in the kitchen. Not to avoid Bucky, or the electronic whirring that came from his direction. He just didn't know what to do with himself. And after that much company, there was more than enough to take care of. Bruce had already scrubbed the frying pan down and left it to soak, so it was less work than he had expected. By the time he had finished the dishes and put them back into the cupboards, Gwen had finished whatever she'd needed to do for Bucky. Steve didn't want to ask. Instead, he sat down beside Bruce, keeping an eye on Bucky as Wanda moved closer. She set her glowing red hands over his temples and closed her eyes.

And then, Bucky started screaming.

It was an automatic reaction; Steve lunged towards them but found Bruce blocking his path.

"You can't interrupt them," Bruce explained. "If you do, there's no telling what codes will be left and what will be removed."

"He's in pain!"

"He'll stop in a minute. I would trust Wanda with my life –I've trusted her with more than that. Trust _me;_ it sounds worse than it is."

Steve stepped back uneasily. "You've done this before?"

"I've seen her do it before," Bruce corrected, stuffing his hands into the pouch of his hoodie. "With Gwen and someone else. I didn't need anything take out of my brain, and letting her control the Other Guy is less intricate than this."

"It doesn't hurt," Gwen commented quietly. "It's just –there's so much processing." She gestured vaguely. "Like, I had to relive every command they'd ever given me and the circumstances surrounding it. I know that they used to wipe his memories. If he hasn't remembered any by now, or not all of them, when this is done he will." She crossed her arms, hunching in on herself meekly. "He's only in pain because he's reliving what he's done and that includes full sensory recollection."

He was feeling everything then, along with having to re-enact some of the horrific things he'd done. Steve watched on helplessly. Bruce and Gwen did their best to distract him. And after a few hours, Bucky's screaming abruptly cut off but looking towards him, Steve realized he hadn't actually quit. His mouth was open but he'd probably lost his voice. And it wasn't as though the screaming had been ceaseless –there would be breaks for a few minutes, once for an hour –and then it would resume.

It was dark outside and Steve's dinner sat untouched in front of him before Wanda gave a gasp and fell forward. Steve, Gwen and Bruce all scrambled into the living room. Wanda got back to her feet, holding a hand to her head before Gwen had her arms around her and was leading her to the kitchen for food. Bucky's return seemed slower. His posture relaxed and his head tipped forward to rest against his chest. He closed his mouth, working his jaw before he even started to sit up. He grimaced at Steve, and it was like he was smiling through the pain. There were dark circles under his eyes and sweat on his brow. Bruce handed Bucky a glass of water, balancing his dinner plate on the arm of the chair.

"The water'll help your throat; the food'll help your energy. Sleep for about twelve hours and you'll be good," Bruce said.

Steve found himself sitting as near to Bucky as he could without being obvious about it. He watched as Bucky drained his glass of water, picked at his food and remained otherwise lifeless.


	11. Nothing I Have Ever Known

For the rest of the night, Bucky remained silent. He lay out on the couch, accepting the blanket and pillow Steve offered him, but he otherwise didn't respond. Bruce, Gwen and Wanda had left after eating dinner. Wanda reassured him that this reaction was normal and by tomorrow, Bucky would be back to normal. With them gone, the house fell back into a state of quiet, uneasy tension. Steve hadn't even gotten the chance to ask Bucky about last night. And now, Bucky needed his rest. So Steve slowly returned to his room. He didn't shut the door behind him. Instead, he walked into his closet and reached up, blindly searching along the top of his closet. He winced when his hand collided with a tin can –the medals he'd hidden away –and kept searching until he found the sketch pad. He pulled it down, muffling a cough in the cloud of dust that followed his sketching materials.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd sketched but he was pretty sure it was around the time he'd finished his tours. He swept off the dust as best he could and opened the sketch book, flipping through the pages without seeing the art. He didn't want to know what he'd been drawing back then –none of it would have been good, anyways. He turned on his bedside lamp and got to work sketching whatever he could think about. Everything and anything aside from war, aside from the man currently asleep on his sofa. It didn't help him much though, as he found himself drawing too-familiar lines. His mother's face stared back at him when he was done. He flipped the page and started drawing, but this time it was a rough drawing of the Barnes family. The way he remembered Bucky, chipped tooth and all when they were children. He flipped a page and lost himself in his art.

By the time he had finished drawing the Barnes family, his hand was cramping. By the time he was done drawing, the sun was rising, he'd used up eight pages and his hand was mostly a claw of agony. He worked the stiffness out, but it wasn't easy. He felt unusually at ease for the first time in months, maybe even years. He had a plan. What he would do after, he had no idea. But for now, it was enough. It had to be enough. He leaned against the headboard, wincing at the stiffness in his back and opened his sketch book to the first page.

It was a sketch of the house. He smiled to himself and flipped to another page –another scenery drawing, still-life sketches, a few doodles and comics with black humor and then. And then, there was a sketch of the Howling Commandos. All of them laughing, Monty's face illuminated by the fire they'd lit; Dugan had an arm around Morita, who was trying to escape his grasp; Gabe was laughing, open mouthed in the middle of a joke with Dernier who looked like he could fall over any minute. Despite all the life and joy in the picture, there was something unbearably sad about it. Steve couldn't remember drawing the picture. But he knew it was the last memory he had of the Howling Commandos all together, in one place, celebrating a victory and taking bets. He must have spent hours poring over the piece, making sure everything was just right. And looking at it now, he felt a pang of nostalgia and loneliness that only got worse when he flipped the page to find another sketch.

This one was considerably rougher, brief and hastily done, but neatly paper clipped to the bottom of the page, was a picture. The sketch had been started and erased multiple times; he could still see the track lines of the eraser over the fragile lines connecting him and Bucky. And the picture was of that same scene. He didn't know when it had been taken or who had taken it, but he and Bucky each had an arm around each other's shoulders, were sporting matching black eyes and grinning at the camera. Steve flipped the page, back to incomplete still-life and landscaping sketches until he came to what he'd spent all night drawing. A rough outline of his mother, a light sketch of the Barnes family, and then came the pictures of Bucky.

He shut the sketch book and wandered out to the kitchen, starting the coffee pot automatically. He glanced back towards Bucky who was lying on his stomach, face smashed into his pillow, flesh arm tucked underneath it while his metal fingers just skimmed the floor. Steve gave his head a shake. He made himself a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs, adding cheese to them, and by the time lunch rolled around, he had made and eaten a cup of soup and a sandwich. Bucky gave a loud snore in the living room. Steve exchanged a few texts with Bruce, who assured him that Bucky would wake up shortly and everything would be fine before he responded to Natasha's half dozen enigmatic texts with a question mark.

And then Bucky groaned loudly and sat up, blinking sleepily. "Time is it?" he croaked.

"About three. Glad to see you're alive."

Bucky groaned again and flopped back against the couch, making a shooing motion with his hand. "Not dealing with your sass Rogers, till I've at least had a coffee in me." He grunted. "Maybe two."

Steve brought him a mug of fresh coffee and pushed it towards him. Bucky made a sleepy, pleased noise and sat up. He took a long drink of coffee.

"Oh, no, don't thank me or anything Your Highness," Steve teased. "I didn't do it for you, my legs needed a stretch, as a good a reason as any to get up."

Bucky grunted again. "Definitely two."

"Coming from the guy who slept for fourteen hours. You can't be grumpy."

"It's in my blood. Can and am. Not even you can change that."

Steve gasped, "Look, it speaks more than two words at a time."

Bucky didn't even look up, flashing him his middle finger as he took another drink of his coffee. He sighed contently. "You trying to start somethin' Rogers?"

"I would never."

Bucky snorted. "I'm sure you've fooled someone with that good boy act, but it ain't gonna work on me. I remember you."

Steve blinked in surprise.

Bucky hummed. "I remember you getting in a fight with Matt about why it wasn't right to call… curly hair, big glasses boy's action figures dolls. Something about it strengthening the patriarchy? We were nine and you threw the first punch."

" _Matt_ insisted that any boy who played with action figures when they were nine were going to grow up gay."

"So you punched him."

"It seemed the best option at the time…"

"And Carlos?"

"Carlos deserved it!" Steve replied automatically.

Bucky's lips twitched into a smile. "Oh, yeah? And what'd he do?"

"…You know I don't remember."

"'Cuz he gave you a concussion, yeah, I remember."

"You broke his nose."

"He. Gave. You. A concussion."

It was an old argument of theirs. He was twelve at the time, not long before he set off for Project Rebirth, he'd gotten into a fight with Carlos. Carlos who definitely had been doing something wrong. As far as Steve knew, Carlos had pushed him down and Steve's fragile body had betrayed him. He ended up with a mild concussion and when he came to, he was in the nurse's office, Bucky hovering nearby worriedly. And when Steve had admitted to confronting Carlos about something, Bucky called him an idiot and stormed off. Ten minutes later, Carlos came in with a broken nose, crying. And a minute after that, the teacher sat Bucky down in the lobby and called his parents.

Steve smiled at Bucky. "So you remember?"

"Yeah, last ni –er, the night before, I guess."

"Is that why you were in a better mood yesterday?"

"You callin' me grumpy?" Bucky grinned at him.

Steve rolled his eyes. "You're taking things awfully personal today, Buck. You sure you slept alright?"

"Like a rock. And you look like you slept on one."

"Didn't sleep," Steve admitted. "I was drawing," he answered before Bucky could ask. "I haven't drawn in a long time, I guess I needed to."

Bucky arched a brow. "Or maybe you were trying to avoid another nightmare?" He set his empty coffee cup down.

Steve stiffened. "What happened?"

Bucky sighed and leaned back, running his hand through his hair. "You were screaming. Or yelling. I don't know exactly. I just woke up and I went in to wake you up, and next thing I know you've got a knife on me. And you're wide awake, only you're not all there. You didn't believe I was me, and you… asked me to let you out."

Steve flinched. Of course he had. "It's been a long time since I had an episode like that," he admitted. "It was a flashback, triggered by the nightmare. Shit –I didn't hurt you did I?" But the knife was gone. He probably had. How bad? Impossible to tell with how quickly they could both heal.

"Just a nick, barely a scratch," Bucky said gently. "I talked you around it."

"I remember –cocoa?" It was blurry. Steve could vaguely remember Bucky talking and talking, drinking hot cocoa and playing tic-tac-toe. He'd thought it was a dream. He'd almost hoped it had been, because then it would have meant he hadn't had an episode.

"Yeah, I made you some," Bucky said. "While your asshole neighbour set off fireworks, we played tic-tac-toe for most of the night."

And Bucky didn't even ask for the details. Steve smiled at him gratefully. "Look there's something I should probably show you." He hesitated as he got to his feet.

He had triggered plenty of memories for Bucky, inadvertent as it was. He knew the gist of what Bucky had remembered when he talked about it. He knew they weren't pleasant things. And he'd been there often enough for Bucky's nightmares to pick up on some of the worse things Bucky had endured. But Steve hadn't shared much of his personal life. He'd never even talked about the medals, about how he'd spent the time away from Bucky. What he'd done after Project Rebirth. Bucky didn't ask, he just got to his feet so Steve led him to his bedroom and walked towards his closet.

"Don't even make a closet joke, or I will throw this at your head," Steve threatened as he walked in.

"Well now that you mention it…"

Steve huffed and tossed the tin canister at him. He wasn't surprised when Bucky caught it deftly and twisted the lid off. Inside was the award winning interview Christine Everheart had managed to snag with him, where she wiped out the existence of Monty and the other Omegas to focus on Steve. He was pretty sure he'd kept the article in order to set it on fire and then forgotten about it. Bucky sat down on his bed, reading through the article before looking at the medals gathered at the bottom of the tin.

Steve found himself pacing his room. "I lost –I watched one of my men get killed," he said. "The only loss and that vulture didn't even mention his name."

"You won a Purple Heart?" Bucky asked quietly, staring at the medal in shock.

Steve grimaced. "Nothing –nothing _honorable_ about it." He crossed his arms. "It was a set up. After I rescued Tony Stark and a few other rich Omegas –they started calling me all these names. A hero. I just –I mostly followed my orders."

Actually, he'd disobeyed three direct commands and marched in anyways. They wanted to make sure they had enough resources. Steve was worried if they spent another day arguing over resources, none of the Omegas would come out alive. And he wasn't the only one who went in. When he set off, so did Colonel Rhodes. Steve got to the base just after Tony Stark took off, and Rhodes left in time to find Stark. The Colonel had been the one to personally thank him and award a medal of valor. At the time, Steve had thought they'd recalled him to the States in order to court martial him, not reward him. The Purple Heart had come later, of course, with the loss of Monty.

"You _were_ in the paper," Bucky repeated, awe creeping into his voice. "I remembered you."

Steve glanced at him. "What are you talking about?"

"I got sick, like, seven years ago. And I was living in a cardboard box with Barton. And I thought I was –I thought I was dreaming, because there you were on the ceiling. It was a newspaper clipping, soaked through but I knew it was you. Getting a reward." Bucky smiled softly at the medal, setting it inside the can. "I was so confused. I remembered you being so little."

"Project Rebirth," Steve said. "When I started growing and putting on muscle like crazy, they'd been training me for a six months. And I spent the next six years training with them, learning from the best fighters there were. They put me through every course they could think of, just to see if I could pass the examinations without sitting through all the classes. I'd already learned four languages by then. And when I passed all the tests they could find and invent, I signed up without a second thought."

"And then you learned about me, right?" Bucky smiled slightly. "And it wasn't like you could just go back on your deal."

"And it wasn't like I had anyone to keep out of the military," Steve agreed.

"I can't believe I actually remembered you back then," Bucky said. "Imagine how different it would have been if after I got sick, I managed to track you down."

"Seven years ago?" Steve shuddered. "I was stuck having flashbacks and nightmares, everything made me jump and startle –I felt like I hadn't left the war. It felt like it was a punishment to be back."

"I'd been living on the streets for a year," Bucky said gently. "I had nightmares. I used to wake up thinking I'd been turned into a robot, an emotionless killer made of vibranium and steel."

"I-I was stuck in a cell. No way out, couldn't break the bars. Two cells on both sides of mine and down at the end of the hall, that's where they kept –kept Monty. He was an Omega, illegally enlisted in the Army, on suppressants to hide it. He needed the money, bad. He wanted to help where he could and –I could see them, the guards, when they went down to his cell and beat on him…"

"And you couldn't do anything."

Steve shook his head. "Nothing at all. I just –watched. We all did. We'd try and talk to him. But they –Hydra started signalling him out for it. So we –we talked to each other, loud, so he could hear us. And sometimes he'd laugh, mostly though; mostly we could hear him breaking down."

It –there was no shame in it. They'd been there for _days_ and there was always a shift of guards and they were _always_ taking their frustrations out on Monty. And there was nothing any of them could do to deter their attention. They'd sing bawdy songs, they'd taunt the guards about what they were going to do to them when they got out, when they got rescued, and they talked about everything they could think of. When the guards were near enough, they'd spit at Steve or Gabe or Dugan, they'd swing their batons against their hands if they could, but they never opened the door. And gradually, Monty's bravado fell away. His breathless laughter would shake with tears. At night, it wasn't like the cells were quiet. At night, it was cold like death and hope slithered away. And one night, Monty slipped away, quietly unnoticed into death's grasp.

"I had to train Natasha, and Clint," Bucky said. "Natasha couldn't have been ten when I met her. And I taught her how to kill, smooth and efficiently. She stole the extra serum from Project Rebirth for me. My reward, for how good I was to the Red Room. I think back on it sometimes. There I was, fifteen or sixteen, teaching a bunch of kids how to kill. I'd already been doing it for three years, maybe longer. I didn't really keep track of time. And I tried to save Natasha. I don't know if she remembers. One day I just –I couldn't do it. It was wrong. All those girls, they deserved _better_. They deserved to live. So I just grabbed her, and ran." Bucky sighed softly. "They caught me. And they –they took those memories. I lost three years and I didn't even know it."

"My friend died. And I couldn't do anything about it other than watch. His name was Montgomery Falsworth."

It was the first time Steve had said those words to someone who hadn't been there. And it was like sharing it, somehow eased up the tension that had been hanging around the house. It felt a little easier to breathe.

"I taught Clint how to fight and how to kill. I let him go into that church and kill those kids. I let him do worse things and sometimes we had to kill together. I murdered a bunch of science experiments who could have been you or me, but they'd gone wrong. I did it without batting an eye." Bucky paused, inhaling softly. "I killed Howard and Maria Stark."

Steve froze. "You remember it…?"

"When Wanda did her thing," Bucky said softly. "I broke in and cut the brake lines on every car he owned. And then, when he was on the way, I stepped in front of them. They had enough time to decide whether to hit me or drive off the edge. Well, they drove off the road instead… And I had to go make sure they were finished. That they wouldn't –survive."

That was definitely something Bucky had not shared before. And Steve hoped he'd shared because he needed to, not just to tell him what would happen when Hydra was defeated. But maybe, with Hydra out of the way, Bucky would be able to win his trial. They would be releasing all that information online anyways, it would probably be better for Bucky to turn himself in. And with all that information about how long he'd been in Hydra's possession, how they'd wipe his memories and keep him under their control through torture; that would have to convince anyone. Except for maybe Tony Stark and people like him. Victims. It would be messy.

"What are you going to do now?" Steve asked quietly.

"Once we defeat Hydra, once we make sure they're gone, I'm going to… hand myself over to the authorities. I'll go on trial if I have to. I deserve to, though, Steve."

And Steve had agreed. He had agreed that if Bucky ever remembered, he could go to the authorities. "Okay."

Bucky smiled slightly. "Thought you were gonna put up a fight, there Rogers."

"We made a deal. I don't like it. But we did make one."

"Maybe you should work on making better deals, huh?"

Steve rolled his eyes and grabbed the tin can containing his medals and the article, he carelessly shoved them back onto the shelf they'd come from.

"What did you do to –what reason did they give you the medal for?"

Steve stared at the plain, white wall of his closet for a long moment. "I destroyed every Hydra base in the Middle East. I… also saved a lot of people. Omegas and Betas Hydra had been keeping captive."

"How many?"

"Hundreds."

"And you lost your friend."

"Yeah," Steve answered softly. "And I came here, after. And it's like –when I'm here, it's like I never left." Like he never escaped in that place in time, that moment, where Monty had died and Steve couldn't save him.

Steve startled when Bucky hugged him and then he relaxed into his embrace, gradually, breath by breath. He hadn't ever talked about his time before S.H.I.E.L.D. and Clint and Natasha hadn't asked –probably because asking was tantamount to inviting him to ask about their pasts. And besides that, they had probably both heard about his famed 'achievement' in the war. And if they hadn't at the time, then they would have at some point during their recruitment to S.H.I.E.L.D. Coulson had known, of course, and so had Fury and Hill. That might have been the most he'd ever spoken about Monty, even if he couldn't say his name at the time. They hadn't needed to know who.

"You used to be smaller," Bucky murmured, resting his forehead again Steve's shoulder.

"Are you complaining?"

Bucky hummed. "Not really. We're both different now." As if to emphasize, he held out his metal arm. "Neither of us can go back either."

Steve turned, uncertain of what to say, only to find that his gaze was drawn to Bucky's lips. "I don't want to go back," Steve murmured. "This is better than anything I had before." He flicked his eyes up to Bucky's blue-grey eyes.

"Yeah?" Bucky asked softly, eyes wide; his tongue darted out to wet his lips. "Because, I kinda liked before better."

"It was a lie," Steve countered quietly. "I'd take reality over that any day."

"I've been in love with you for as long as I can remember. Since we were kids. And then, I forgot and I was someone else. Somehow, I found you and fell for you anyways. I can still remember that."

"So can I."

Bucky made a small huff of frustration and he gripped the back of Steve's neck, drawing him in for a kiss. Steve kissed him back for a moment, allowing himself to be lost in the brief, chaste contact before he drew back.

"Don't make this complicated," Bucky pleaded. "I just –I've wanted to that for as long as I can remember." He frowned. "I don't –when I was a kid? When I –when we were fighting. Just. I just wanted to know." A faint flush crept up his neck.

"Oh," Steve offered ineloquently, feeling his face warm considerably.

"It was –good," Bucky said. "That's what I –" He exhaled suddenly, shaking his head. The flush was still present on his neck. "This used to be easier," he said, chuckling under his breath.

And then, they were kissing again. Steve wasn't sure who moved in first –it might have been both of them –but they were kissing. And it was slow and tender, unhurried, like they both had all the time in the world and they wanted to take advantage of that. And maybe they did. There was just the two of them, alone in the moment, kissing leisurely. There was nothing outside of Bucky, outside of the bedroom. And when Steve pulled back to catch his breath, Bucky slipped his hands under his shirt.

"There aren't a lot of people I trust. And I want to do this with you, on my terms," Bucky all but growled, pressing another kiss to him. "So if you don't wanna, say something now," and that was how Steve found himself shirtless and manhandled onto his own bed.

Bucky took his time, mapping out Steve's body with feather-light touches and curious licks here and there. It was a different sort of intimacy than Steve had been expecting, but it also wasn't a challenge to revel in the attention Bucky was lavishing on him. He settled his hands on Bucky's waist, slipping his hands under his shirt and very slowly sliding them up, dragging his shirt up and off with the movement. Bucky gazed down at him, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his expression. Without really thinking about it, Steve sat up, kissing him. When he pulled back breathlessly, he slid his hands along Bucky's body, feeling the rippled scars under his touch.

"None of 'em are new," Bucky mumbled, and there was a faint thread of insecurity in how he reached down to move Steve's hands back to his waist. "Nothing to see."

Steve leaned in, nuzzling his neck. "I like them; they're how you got here, to this moment in time. No matter what led up to them."

Bucky shuddered under his touch, allowing his hands to settle, releasing their hold from Steve's. "You –actually want this?"

Steve pressed a kiss to the side of his jaw. "How couldn't I?"

"But I'm a –"

Steve didn't need to let him finish speaking to know what he was going to say. He kissed his neck. "You're a survivor," he said, kissing down to a small scar across Bucky's pec. "You survived. Without you, we wouldn't have known about Hydra." He kissed along a jagged knife scar that spanned his bicep. "I would've been forced to marry a stranger, have children, be enslaved to my country for the rest of my life because of my genetics." He peppered kisses along the scarring on his left side. He felt more than heard Bucky's startled inhalation. "You're my hero –not just from my childhood. You've lived through more than anyone ever should have had to endure and you came out of it whole."

"Don't feel whole," Bucky mumbled, shifting the plates on his arm.

"They took away pieces, chipped away what they could and had to block out the rest in order to make you do anything," Steve argued vehemently. "You survived it. You kept our friends alive. You even tried to save them when you couldn't save yourself."

"That was just poor planning," Bucky mumbled, but he was smiling and the lines around his eyes were easing up.

"Maybe I'm a bad person too then," Steve murmured, kissing along a ridged scar just above Bucky's navel. "Because I –I don't care what you've done, what you had to do, to get here. But you're alive and you're real and that's –that's all I ever wanted."

He hadn't planned on this, hadn't ever dreamed that something like this could happen. But from the moment he'd learned the truth, that Bucky had gone missing, was presumed to be a captive to some Alpha's sick demands, he'd only ever dreamed about Bucky coming back alive. He'd hoped that Bucky would be okay but as the years went on; the chances of Bucky coming back unharmed lessened and lessened. The hope that he was even alive had been getting harder and harder to keep alive. But the other option was infinitely worse and even at his lowest of lows; Steve refused to think about any other possibility.

"You are _not_ a bad person," Bucky hissed, and then he was pressing Steve back against the bed, kissing him senseless.

There was a rushed edge to Bucky's touch, to his firm and desperate kisses. As though by declaring Steve's innocence, he had decided to reclaim something for himself. Whether it was the idea of his salvation, the fact that someone out there still believed in him despite everything, or maybe it was because he couldn't accept that someone had forgiven him. Forgiven crimes that he held himself accountable when he'd had no choice. Steve could relate, only on a small scale to the degree that Bucky had to be feeling, had to be struggling with the thought that someone had forgiven him, that someone didn't care what he'd done. Because Steve really… didn't. It wasn't Bucky's fault, it was Hydra's and everyone had to know that, had to realize it when they heard what Hydra had done to him. And beyond all that, it was the simple fact that he knew Bucky wouldn't have made those choices on his own. The same way Clint had no choice, the same way that Natasha had been raised to believe the lies.

"You're good," Bucky panted. "You're the best person I know, and if you're bad, then what are the rest of us? Where's that leave us Steve?"

"I'm not that good," Steve murmured, reaching up to caress Bucky's cheek. "I'm selfish, reckless, demanding –"

"You're human," Bucky corrected. "You're absolutely and utterly human, Steven Rogers. We can't be perfect –and that's okay too." He set his hands on Steve's shoulder, gently kneading at the pressure there. "You're kind and compassionate, you're passionate, determined to make a difference, brave, and you're a good person." Bucky smiled shakily. "You –you've forgiven everything I've done, to you, to others. I can't even do that."

"I wouldn't take that from you," Steve said hastily, kissing the corner of his mouth apologetically. "I didn't mean to –"

"Just shut up and kiss me," Bucky demanded, exasperated. "Enough talking."

So, Steve did exactly that. And the weird tension hovering between them dissipated between one kiss and the next, even as they both took their time learning the other's body, stripping their clothes off unhurriedly. It was tender and intimate, and the hours slipped by them unnoticed as they pressed together and from one moment to the next, their pleasures became one.

Bucky watched as Steve got out of bed and padded to the shower. He rolled his jaw, feeling the ache in his cheek. He wasn't sure if he'd ever smiled this much before. It was a good feeling though, so was the pleasant ache between his legs. And, as he watched Steve move around, a hitch to his steps, he was betting Steve felt the same. It wouldn't be long until the aches soothed and were healed, but for the moment, Bucky had no plan to leave the bed. And no plans to stop smiling any time soon. He'd had sex before, but it had never been like last night. Last night was something different, something special. Maybe because it was Steve. Maybe because –Steve had forgiven him. It felt so ridiculous to even think about. Steve didn't even know half of what he'd done, but Steve didn't care. And Steve was nothing if not honest. Although he could remember being intimate with Steve, when he was James, they hadn't been as intimate. James didn't know the stories behind his scars and he tended to deflect Steve's questions. He didn't let Steve touch.

But last night, had been _all_ about Steve touching every scar he found and kissing each one with a fierce determination, as though he was thanking each scar for being a scar, for letting Bucky live. Most of them were from before the serum, although a few like the ridged one along his gut had been after. The serum couldn't heal everything, but it had certainly ensured his survival. And it wasn't the first time, but it was one of the few times, where Bucky questioned his own survival. Because maybe he needed to survive, maybe there was good he could yet do in the world. He hadn't thought of that since he convinced Natasha and Clint to go destroying Hydra bases and even that, all he'd done was cause more death. Before then, it had been when he was training Clint and Natasha. He trained them to _survive_ , to keep them from breaking. And he had apparently succeeded, but it wasn't something he was proud of. He taught children how to kill. And for the first time, without being expected to kill or train someone else to kill, he really believed that maybe there was another reason he had survived everything. To save Steve. He'd been saving Steve all his life, now was really no different.

It had to be obvious to everyone, how lonely Steve was. But Steve, as usual, kept that to himself. And for the first time, Steve had actually shared about his life. What he'd done with his life since he'd gone off to Project Rebirth. Bucky only wished that when he'd left to go see Steve, that he'd actually made it there. That he actually could have taken a second chance to find and stop Steve, convince Steve to leave the program and for once tell him how he felt. Really tell him that he was in love with him, that he'd rather see Steve as a successful artist than as a lab rat. But, in the end, he wasn't able to save Steve from himself. He couldn't even make it to New Jersey, to Camp Lehigh where they kept Steve and the others. Bucky had been halfway there when Hydra caught him. Well, it hadn't actually been Hydra. The woman worked at Camp Lehigh –some nurse who was there to support the participants and help if anything went wrong –and she'd smooth talked Bucky right up until she tasered him and carted him off to Hydra. She was the one who had allowed an open door for Hydra agents to get in; to enable Natasha to enter as a late participant following one of the participants' deaths.

It was something Bucky didn't want to have to explain to Steve. Under any circumstance because it was Bucky's fault, it was the nurse's fault, it was Hydra's fault but it was in no way, shape or form, Steve's fault. And if Steve knew? Steve would blame himself. Bucky hadn't even told his parents or his sister where he was going. He just. School sucked without his best friend. He missed him. He hadn't seen Steve since Sarah died, at her funeral, and that had been awful. Steve hadn't even really known she'd been sick and could only afford a few days to stay. And so Bucky had just decided to leave class and go see his best friend. And there was nobody who could have stopped him. The woman had been a Beta with a nice smile, she was easy to trust. She was on the same bus he was on, heading to the same place. She'd grabbed him when they got off to wait for their transfer. And no one had seen anything. Or if they had, they hadn't done anything. That was just the way things were done, when you were a stupid Omega kid. He hoped Steve never asked.

Last night had been a surprise, a good one. He'd just wanted to know what it was like to be with another person. To have someone to kiss and hug and hold. He hadn't expected to have sex. He'd just wanted to comfort Steve and somehow that had turned into something else entirely. To be honest, he still wasn't sure how it had unfolded that way but he wasn't complaining. He didn't know if he was in love with Steve, but he did love him. And he definitely wanted him. But there weren't words to describe last night. Last night was good. It was beyond good. It was probably the best memory he had. If something went wrong during the next few days, during all their planning, at least he could always remember last night. Even if he ended up having to spend the rest of his life in prison. Steve liked him as he was –he didn't have to be James in order to win and charm Steve over. Honestly, Bucky wasn't even sure if he tried that he could succeed at that. Maybe, since Steve seemed so accommodating already.

Steve walked back into the room, wearing a small towel around his waist and water dripped from his hair. It was so easy to just reach out and give a tug and suddenly, Bucky's view improved. Regardless of Steve's laughing protest. And then, Bucky dragged him onto the bed, kissing him contently. Steve was a very good kisser. But they were interrupted when Steve's stomach growled loudly, and they pulled away, laughing. Steve went out, still blessedly naked, and made eggs. It was quick and easy and returned with a bowl and two forks. So they ate together, their arms bumping against each other and they nearly had a food fight before they finished. And after? They spent the rest of the day alternating between cuddling in bed, talking in hushed tones as they caught up on the life they'd missed out on. Neither of them really wanted to leave the bed, let alone leave the other. It was nice to have a day off. Even though neither of them were technically free, as they were still making plans and preparing for Hydra. Steve got a number of texts that he always replied to, on occasion asking Bucky about what weapons he felt he needed.

And as nice as it was to cuddle nakedly with Steve, it was even better when they had sex. Again, it wasn't something either of them had planned. One minute they were murmuring to the other, trading soft, light kisses and the next, Steve was moving over him, bracketing him with his strong arms. And then the kisses got less chaste, there were tongues and teeth and they were panting and breathless, bitten-off groans the only sound echoing in the house. And then, Steve was bringing them together and euphoria rushed up to greet them all too soon and yet not soon enough. Being with Steve like this was easy, it was fun and comfortable and they chuckled under their breath at each other, trading sloppy kisses.

It wasn't until the third day, Bucky's last day before he was to leave with Clint that anything between them changed. The sex was more hurried and urgent, and Steve willingly tugged Bucky over him. And it took him longer than he liked to realize that it was goodbye sex. That Steve, the idiot, didn't know if they would see each other again. And Bucky realized that he was right. If everything went to plan, Bucky would be handing himself over to the authorities just as Steve would be celebrating their victory. So he held onto Steve just as tightly, not worried about leaving bruises, knowing they would heal in a matter of minutes and he made sure to slow his pace. He made sure to have Steve panting and writhing with need underneath him before achingly slow dragging orgasms out of the both of them.

He wasn't in love with Steve. No matter what Natasha's smug smirk said, as she handed over fresh clothes to the both of them when she arrived. Bucky showered and changed first. He had a lot of questions for Nat as he stepped out of the bathroom.

"What is this?" he demanded, gesturing at his clothes. "I look like a law school prep kid."

"Exactly," Natasha said, walking around him. "You almost look clean cut. Go shave. And put these on." She handed him a set of wide-frame black glasses.

So Bucky went back and did exactly as she said, only to find that Natasha had followed him in. She grabbed a comb that was set on the sink and stood on her tiptoes, brushing his hair until it was neatly parted down the middle.

"I am offended."

"Good. Don't scowl and no one'll know it's you." Natasha flashed him a bright smile. "Now it's Steve's turn."

Bucky grumbled under his breath and went back to the living room. Natasha returned with him, handing a bag of clothes to Steve.

"You look all clean-cut," Steve teased, accepting his bag of clothes.

"Can't wait to see how you turn out," Bucky muttered, rubbing his chin. He missed his beard already.

However, when Steve walked out, Bucky couldn't help the strangled laugh that escaped him. It didn't help that Steve was wearing a most manly pout, but he was dressed in flannel plaid and blue jeans. With his beard? He looked like he was getting ready to go out and chop down a tree or two. Maybe even with his bare hands.

"Really?" Steve asked Natasha plaintively.

"It looks good on you. Just stop the pout." Steve huffed and rolled his eyes. Natasha beamed. "Muuuch better. Don't you agree Bucky?"

"O-oh yeah," Bucky said, nodding along enthusiastically. "You look great Steve." He did look good; he just didn't look like Steve.

Steve sighed. And apparently they weren't the only ones who had undergone Natasha's disguise plans because when Clint rang the doorbell, he didn't look like Clint either. He was wearing a grey collared shirt, his sleeves pinned back professionally, showing off an expensive watch. On top of that, he was wearing slacks. At Bucky's questioning look, he gave a light shrug.

"Nat made you shave too, huh?" Clint asked.

"Don't even," Bucky huffed.

Clint snickered. "Well, no one will find us now. I mean, look at us. You're clearly a law student and I'm…" he paused, glancing down at his clothes. "I don't know what I am."

"Dressed to impress," Natasha said stiffly. "You're dressed like you're about to surprise Phil for a date." Clint made a face. Natasha sighed. "You haven't dressed up for him lately have you?"

"We mostly order in and watch tv," Clint said defensively. "I wear clean clothes!"

Natasha sighed. "And I suppose you shower first too."

Steve walked over to them, waving when he saw it was Clint.

"You couldn't have made me normal, like Steve?" Clint asked.

"You could never look like Steve," Natasha said briskly, walking back to the living room. "Maybe like a peasant farmer."

"Excuse you, at least I know how to farm."

"Must be so challenging," Natasha drawled, "tilling fields all day, throwing square bales into a pen. Mucking out the stalls. Driving a tractor."

Clint rolled his eyes. "I've worn plaid before. I happen to look great in it."

"Did Phil tell you that?"

"…Yes."

"He lied. It's an obligatory lie because he loves you."

"He wouldn't lie about fashion."

Natasha arched an eyebrow. "From the man who doesn't even dress up to impress him anymore."

"We've been dating for like a year!" Clint protested. "I clean up the place and I cook."

"And they say romance isn't dead," Natasha drawled.


	12. I'm So Sorry

Driving to Indiana wasn't the most exhausting thing. Clint was friendly and open, stopping for food when they needed it. And when he was tired, he'd let Bucky drive. But as they crossed into Indiana, Clint roused himself from his sleep and took over driving them through a small, quaint town.

"Thought you hated your brother, would never forgive him," Bucky said, after the silence had weighed too long between them.

"He did a bad thing. Really bad. And I –I don't know if I've forgiven him, if I can. But. He's still my brother. And he's sorry, you know? So I've just, I've moved on."

Truthfully, when Bucky had heard Clint's circumstances, he had wanted to bash Barney's head in too. Barney had sold Clint to Hydra for money. "How's your boyfriend feel about that?"

Clint frowned in confusion. "He's glad we're getting along, I guess? Glad that I get to be involved with Barney's family. I'm an uncle now, you know."

"I bet you're the one that gets the kid into trouble," Bucky replied.

Clint snorted. "Cooper's too good for that. He's just happy to build things –I'm not the greatest at that. And he's still pretty obsessed with dinosaurs. He's five now, I think, and Lila's one by now."

"Barney settled down?" Bucky didn't know why it was such a surprise to hear it. He'd kind of just figured that Barney was living on a farm, by himself. Probably still sticking his nose where it didn't belong, like he'd been doing from the time he and Clint were kids.

Clint had spent a lot of time talking when the Winter Soldier was present. But Bucky still had all those memories. It seemed like he should know something about Clint's family and whether or not punching Barney in the face would be acceptable or not. Given that there were potentially children who could be around; Bucky was definitely nixing that idea.

"He went and joined the FBI, quit and retired to work as a mall cop when his girlfriend got pregnant with Cooper. They're married now and baby number three's on the way."

"A mall cop."

"Yeah, I give him hell for it all the time." Clint glanced at him, smirking. "You know you don't have to impress him or anything like that? He's met Phil before. He had to pick him up from the airport last Christmas. I think it was part of Phil's plan because when they came back, Barney looked a bit shaken."

"Agent Coulson does seem competent."

"He's the most competent," Clint said happily. "He's great."

Bucky smiled. "Good for you."

"What about you and Cap? I don't want the details or anything, but you two seemed awfully close yesterday."

Bucky smirked. "We had sex."

The offended, outraged noise Clint made was worth it. "I said I didn't want details!"

"What, like how he –"

"No!" Clint shouted. "La la la!"

Bucky laughed. "You were practically asking for it."

"You know, never mind, pretend I didn't ask. Just." Clint shook his head. "I was going to say I'd hurt him if he hurt you or something, but knowing Steve he'd probably already be beating his head against a wall. And then I felt obligated to say the same thing to you because Steve's my friend too. But how about you both just get married or something. And don't like, hurt each other because that would suck."

Bucky blinked. "Mar-marry him?"

"It's what I said."

"I haven't even –I only just got my memories back!"

"So? You're into each other."

"Why don't you marry your boyfriend if you're so gung-ho about the whole thing."

Clint laughed awkwardly. "We're too busy for that. And anyways, he's got important stuff to do."

"That was a deflection, and a poor one. Why not? You're obvious crazy about him."

"It's just –I'm not that kind of a guy. It's not happening."

"What? Getting married isn't possible for you? Why?"

"Look, I'm just not marrying Phil. It's not our future. I'm an Avenger, he's a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. It would never work out."

Bucky leaned against his seat. "You're worried one of you will die."

"He's –yeah." Clint huffed. "We're just spending time together, right now. That's all."

"You're in a committed relationship with no end."

"I don't want there to be an end," Clint snapped.

Oh, and that was the point of it. If there was no end, he and Phil could remain. Bucky wondered if Phil actually felt the same. But those questions would come later; he realized as Clint turned down an old dirt road and followed it down through a copse of trees. And then, everything changed when they caught sight of the farm house. Clint slammed on the brakes. Bucky drew his gun and shifted Clint's bow and arrows to where he could reach them. There had clearly been an attack. Smoke was rising from the wraparound porch and the doors were torn clean off. Clint turned off the engine, pulling the quiver over his shoulder before he got out of the car. Bucky followed him, keeping his metal hand balled into a fist at his side. It would be an advantage in a fight.

There was an armored SUV parked off to the side of the house and as they walked the perimeter of the house, they found Strike Team Theta waiting. The Strike Team fired first and Bucky threw up his metal arm, throwing himself out of the line of fire. Clint disappeared inside the house and Bucky followed after him. There was a pool of congealed blood in the doorway, droplets leading away from it. Clint tensed up as he followed the trail to the back door which was standing upright by one hinge. Clint cursed under his breath, nocking an arrow. Bucky walked past him, taking point as team Theta came gunning for them again. Bucky incapacitated Jones with one punch and then he took on Rollins. Jones had been within his reach and Rollins who was the nearest. Two arrows sailed through the air in quick succession, dropping Peyton and Grainger. The next arrow provided them cover, but Clint leaped in after the smokescreen and finished off the remaining agents in a quick, dirty fight. Rollins attempted to fight back, but his blows were easily deflected and when Bucky punched him out, he dropped like a sack.

Apparently, Theta wasn't the only team here. Strike Team Iota was right behind them. Bucky rolled to his side, throwing his arm up in time to deflect a bullet. Clint swore and launched another smoke screen arrow towards Iota. But Iota spread out, using the screen to their advantage as well. Bucky traded a grim look with Clint. Ultimately, it didn't matter how good their defense was. He wished suddenly that he had some proper gear on him, but it didn't really matter. He aimed his gun, spent a millisecond listening for the labored breath of a man he'd noticed earlier. He fired, aimed again, fired. Two perfect shots, two choked off cries and Iota was spooked. They returned fire, but they didn't have Bucky's aim or his training. And they definitely didn't have Clint's. Not being able to see them wasn't a problem –Bucky could hear them, he knew what kind of strategies they would employ like the trained soldiers they were. He fired where the strategic locations were. One bullet hit the porch, embedding itself in the wood but the second hit its mark.

Both Clint and Bucky were assassins, both of them trained snipers. And picking off the remaining Hydra agents wasn't a challenge. Even if Bucky wasn't using his preferred gun, it was still effective. He could see their outlines, hear them. The smoke blew off and six bodies lay spread out on the porch. Clint had gotten the sixth who had apparently tried to hide behind a pillow. The arrow had gone clean through, pinning him there. It wasn't anything either of them hadn't seen before. Blood, gore and dead bodies was pretty par for the course. The problem was that, among the dead bodies, none of them were Rumlow. Theta never went anywhere without their leader.

They heard it at the same time, the sound of a fight, a struggle and they both raced back inside the house. Next to the staircase was a bookcase that had been knocked over and a shattered vase. Just beyond the wreckage Rumlow stood. And he has his hand around Barney Barton's throat, pinning him against the wall. It was hard to tell whether or not Barney had put up a fight –he was sporting a black eye, his nose was crooked and bleeding, there was a piece of his shirt ripped off and missing and blood staining what remained. Barney growled, kicking at Rumlow and twisting his body. Rumlow gave a low, cruel laugh and released him –Barney's momentum carried him forward and he collided with the fallen bookshelf. Barney didn't look much like his brother, darker and angrier in every way to the fifteen year old Clint Bucky had met. Barney got up to his feet, throwing a dark look in Clint's direction and shifting his stance. He was favoring his left leg.

"Oh, look at who decided to show up," Rumlow catcalled, grinning at Clint. "And who'd you bring with you? A monster with no leash?" He took a step towards Barney. "Your brother and I were having a grand time without you, Barton. Or, Hawkeye that might get confusing."

"Shut up and get away from him," Clint growled. And he sounded a hell of a lot less like Clint, like Hawkeye, and more reminiscent of Ronin. Maybe it was just because Bucky was around him again –they tended to bring out their dark sides when they were together.

"Or what?" Rumlow asked, grinning at them as he grabbed Barney.

Barney fought like any trained operative was expected; moving to get out of the hold Rumlow went to put him into. But Barney was injured, and Rumlow was faster and merciless and he threw Barney onto the floor, shoving his boot onto his bad leg. Barney grunted in pain and writhed when Rumlow casually stomped down on his leg. The snap of breaking bone reverberated in the open archway for a moment before Barney's low, agonizing moan of pain followed it.

" _That's_ much better," Rumlow said decidedly. "Can't runaway now. What are you gonna do next, Barton?"

Clint had already drawn and nocked an arrow. Barney grunted in pain and attempted to drag himself away from Rumlow.

"You're gonna crawl?!" Rumlow barked a laugh and spat in his direction. "Fuckin' coward."

Clint released his arrow. Rumlow turned at the right moment and the arrow skidded across the exposed flesh of his bicep. "Really Hawkeye, arrows to a gun fight?"

"Really," Bucky drawled, "bullets to fight Hawkeye?"

Rumlow snorted. " _Vniz mal'chik_ ," he ordered.

'Down boy' in Russian. It was a code that the Red Room had designed for him around the time he'd attempted to escape with Natasha. It was their gift to Hydra for all the good work the Winter Soldier had done for them. It served as a hard reset to effectively shut him down –like he was a machine, like he wasn't even human. His finger itched to pull the trigger but he kept his hand steady, watching Rumlow warily.

"Until about three days ago that might have worked," Bucky said. "Thankfully, I dealt with that problematic brainwashing issue."

"Get out of here before I kill you!" Clint snarled; he'd already drawn another arrow.

Barney was crawling over the bookcase, but Rumlow moved quickly –so instead of Clint's arrow driving through his heart, it slammed into the tender flesh of Rumlow's shoulder. As Clint drew another arrow, Rumlow ripped the arrow out with a grunt of pain and hauled Barney onto his feet, shoving the arrowhead against Barney's neck.

"You still gonna kill me?" Rumlow taunted, smirking. "Really? Because I think… I think the both of you need to drop your weapons or I'm going to cut his throat."

Bucky would have taken the shot, except for the fact that Rumlow kept his head low. He knew both he and Clint could take a shot and shoot through Barney without killing him, but Bucky figured that wasn't a risk Clint was willing to take. He dropped his guns obediently. It wasn't like he was left un _armed_ or anything. Next to him, Clint slowly set his bow down.

"You fuckin' idiot," Barney snarled, glaring at him.

"Ah, much better," Rumlow said, straightening his posture. He didn't release Barney. "I think this is a conversation for us adults to have, Hawkeye."

"Funny, I don't hear any adults talking to me."

Rumlow scoffed. "You think you're so great. Disgusting. I hated working with you –you shouldn't have even made it into S.H.I.E.L.D. you're a waste of space, carnie trash."

Clint's shoulders dropped as he laughed. "That's the best you've got Rumlow? You've had, what, four or five years to come up with revenge and that – _that's_ what you got for me? Christ, you're Hydra. I'm surprised you didn't go for the cheap shot."

"He doesn't know who you are," Bucky said, surprised to see the shock on Rumlow's face. "He was off in some other country doing dirty business."

"You're joking?" Clint demanded. "I killed fuckin' kids and I worked –I was enslaved by Hydra and they don't even know who Ronin was?"

"Ronin?" Rumlow repeated incredulously.

"Didn't put names to codenames too well," Bucky said dryly.

Barney gave a breathless sort of chuckle, leaning away from the arrowhead that was still pressed to his neck. "What is this?" he demanded. "Amateur comedy hour?"

"Say another word, and I will put you out of your misery Barton. Save your kids, and your wife, the humiliation."

Clint tensed. "We've disarmed," he argued. "We're weaponless."

"You know," Rumlow said casually, pressing the arrowhead more firmly against Barney's neck. The line of red that trailed down his neck was shockingly visible. "Hydra doesn't take prisoners," he looked between the two of them. "We remake prisoners into something better. We make them tools of order, spreading order through the land."

Clint's fingers twitched an aborted movement of desperation. Bucky watched warily, calculating how long it would take him to reach Rumlow before he cut Barney's throat. Rumlow pulled the arrowhead back, but he kept his arm around Barney's throat. Even if they'd fired a bullet or an arrow at his arm, there was a chance it would have gone straight through to Barney as well. A knife would work much better. Bucky reached for his casually, his eyes on Rumlow.

"And I know pain brings order." He said it almost apologetically but there wasn't a bone of sympathy or humanity left in him. "Pain," he repeated, "brings order."

Bucky threw his knife and it planted directly his forearm. But other than Rumlow's grunt of pain and the way he jerked Barney back against him, it didn't stop him. Time seemed to slow down, the way it only did when death was so imminent, when adrenaline was coursing through their bodies. Clint was reaching for his bow and arrow, Bucky for his gun because it was obvious Rumlow had changed his mind. He was thinking tactically, Bucky knew, but it didn't make what was about to happen any easier. Rumlow buried the arrow in his chest until only the fletching was visible. Barney made a choked off, strangled noise, his gray eyes wide, staring down at the arrow piercing his chest. His hands fluttered feebly, reaching towards the arrow like he was going to pull it out. Red, red blood welled up around the wound, soaking through the fabric of Barney's shirt, leaving a trail down his chest.

Bucky understood how Rumlow thought it was going to work: Clint was going to be incapacitated by the pain; it would leave Rumlow with enough time to either escape, capture Clint or kill him. Maybe he thought Bucky was more familiar with Barney, or he had another plan entirely for dealing with him, but he miscalculated. Honestly, it was the kind of mistake the Winter Soldier could have made. Because pain was incapacitating, as Bucky well knew, but grief. Grief was a different color, a different flavor to every person. And Clint –Clint had suffered more than enough in his short life. Clint had a niece and a nephew dependent on their father. Something in the last seven or eight years had changed between the Barton brothers, something Bucky would never understand.

Rumlow dropped Barney's lifeless body, flashing a victorious grin in their direction. As Clint brought up his bow, Bucky could see the way his hands were shaking. There were times before where Clint had been overemotional and couldn't shoot worth shit. But this was something else entirely. This was murderous intent, pure rage and hatred. Hydra had put them through enough and now they'd taken Clint's brother. Nothing in Clint's life had broken him before. Not Hydra, not his brother, not the circus and not his parents. But this? This was something that could easily alter Clint forever. Bucky was reaching for him, settling his hand on his shoulder before he could think to stop himself.

"Don't interfere," Clint growled, shrugging his hand off.

For all the things he'd done as Ronin, he had done them knowing he was doing them because if he didn't he would be tortured. He would be punished. Bucky had done terrible things because he had no other option; he had done them because he couldn't remember how to not do them. Some things, he'd done them only because he knew the consequences for not doing it would be worse. But this, if Clint did this? Clint was doing it for himself, of his own free will and volition.

"Gonna join your brother, Clint?" Rumlow taunted.

Clint nocked and fired three arrows faster than Bucky could even see. Each arrow clipped Rumlow's arm; the third snagged his earlobe as it sailed by. Rumlow didn't seem to care; there was a crazed, fiery light in his eyes.

"Ooh, got a temper like your dead brother eh? You know where it caught him?" Rumlow cackled as he gestured at the body and Bucky watched as something else entirely seemed to come over Rumlow. A dark shadow, a dark wildness he had kept under control. That control was gone though, and he was grinning in the face of his death.

Clint fired, controlled and precise and nothing like Hawkeye. Hawkeye was banter and jokes and lightheartedness. Hawkeye was everything Clint had turned himself into being through hard work. Hawkeye was free of blood and dirt. And this? This was nothing like it. Everything about this was Ronin, down to the steely glint in Clint's eyes. He was resigned to his fate, he didn't care what the cost was, and he was going to avenge his brother. Bucky hurried over, dragging Barney's still-warm body out of the way of their fight. He hastily checked for a pulse.

"He died protecting his kids. Pity his wife had more of a mouth on her. She actually had the balls to shoot me," he said, patting his bleeding arm. He didn't even wince at the pain. "She missed the second time, when I snapped her neck. I found her husband next, hiding in a closet upstairs." He snorted. "Your brother was a fuckin' coward, Clint."

The fight was dirty and drawn out. Clint launched himself at Rumlow, his every movement coordinated and exact. He deflected and redirected Rumlow's blows using the limbs of his bow, leaving him free to slam an elbow into Rumlow's gut before darting away. Rumlow caught his bow in one hand, twisting it away –Clint moved with it, leaving his right side exposed to Rumlow's rough punches. Clint didn't make a noise of pain as he spun with Rumlow's movements, running along the wall nearest them before slamming his feet into Rumlow's back. It was a circus trick Clint loved to use and it left his bow firmly in his hands. As Rumlow staggered, turning back to face Clint, Clint was already drawing another arrow. He'd managed to move back onto the porch, putting distance between them. The first arrow he'd already released slammed into Rumlow's wounded arm. The second one followed, landing identically on Rumlow's uninjured arm. It was cruel and dirty. Clint wasn't aiming to kill –he was aiming to torture. If he'd wanted to end this fight, it would've already been over.

Under his fingertips, a light pulse met his touch.

"You coming to get me?" Clint taunted, stepping over the bodies. "You can die with your friends out here Rumlow! All the same to me!"

Rumlow charged after him and Bucky took advantage of that to lift Barney up and inspect the wound. The wound wasn't bleeding much anymore; it had clotted up around the arrow –trying to move the arrow would result in more blood loss. He glanced outside, wanting to tell Clint the news –but he wasn't sure Barney would survive this. And he was pretty sure Clint wasn't about to listen to reason. He could only watch as Clint tore Rumlow down to size. Clint took his fair share of blows, but he moved with them, reduced and minimized the damage and he didn't let the pain distract him. Rumlow had been shot once and clearly Barney had gotten a few blows in on him as well, not to mention the arrows he'd yanked out. He was slowing, falling.

"M'wife," Barney slurred, blinking his eyes open. "She ain't dead. She's with m'kids, safe room, downstairs," he gestured sluggishly in the direction.

"Conserve your strength," Bucky ordered, turning his attention towards the fight. Barney wasn't going to just drop dead.

"Lemme see 'im kill the bastard," Barney pleaded. "He's doing it for me, ain't he?"

"Yeah," Bucky answered guardedly. "He is." He shifted them until Barney could see too.

Outside, Rumlow let out a shout of pain and stumbled over one of the bodies, slipping in the wet blood. He fell.

"He's going to kill him," Bucky warned. "And it won't be quick or clean." He'd taught Clint well. His heart clenched at the thought and tears pricked his eyes. "It's going to be ugly."

"He's doing it for me," Barney said, stubborn and tired. "I damn well better watch."

Clint drew out an explosive arrow.

"Come on Barton," Rumlow laughed, his voice heavy with pain. Bucky imagined that he would have resembled a pin cushion if he hadn't ripped out Clint's arrows. "You ain't gonna kill me and you ain't gonna let me bleed out either. It's not your style."

Clint crouched down, the explosive arrow in his hand. "I hear you survived a run-in with the Winter Soldier, once," he said lightly. "And the Winter Soldier doesn't leave survivors. So let's see if you can survive this." He calmly brought the arrow down into the soft meat of his shoulder. "You know, it's funny how I can't do this," he said, reaching to activate the detonator.

Bucky felt the shudder of revulsion Barney gave, but Barney didn't look away. Bucky averted his own eyes, and maybe that was why he missed it. He shouldn't have. But he'd seen enough death and destruction and he had an idea of what that explosive would do to Rumlow's body and he had no desire to watch it happen. He admired Barney's resolve. There was a concussive blast that shook the house and knocked Clint off his feet. The arrow that had been plunged through Rumlow flashed bright red, faster and faster as it was about to explode before it abruptly died and stopped. Bucky looked up and felt Barney doing the same –above them was a quinjet, slowly setting down in Barney's backyard.

"He would've done it," Barney said, sounding faintly aghast.

"He's done it before," Bucky pointed out. "You sold him to Hydra. That was Ronin you saw."

In the yard, Clint slumped onto his knees, tossing his bow and quiver aside. Bucky would've bet anything that his hands were shaking so bad he couldn't even hold them straight. He wasn't surprised when Clint retched. Honestly, he was a little relieved. The fact that he had willingly given up his weapons was hopefully a sign that Clint had recognized the unusual quinjet because otherwise they were about to be in serious trouble. The landing extended and walking down it at a brisk pace, a worried frown on his face, was none other than Coulson.

"Oh thank fuck," Barney said emphatically. "The cavalry's here."

Clint had to sense Coulson's approach but he didn't react, other than to edge away from Rumlow. Rumlow must have lost consciousness –either due to the pain or the blood loss. But Clint apparently couldn't bring himself to look at the other man. Coulson knelt down beside him, setting his hand on Clint's back. Clint jerked in surprise, staring up at Coulson before offering a trembling smile. Men and women followed Coulson down from the quinjet and he could see open, unguarded surprise on a young woman's face. An older Asian woman was shaking her head, looking unimpressed, as she walked to Rumlow. She nodded almost thoughtfully and turned to Clint, perhaps telling him he'd done well? And then she waved towards the quinjet and several other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents followed her out. Together, they placed Rumlow onto a gurney and wheeled him into their jet. Bucky lifted his arm guardedly, keeping the vibranium one hidden to support Barney, as he waved in their direction. Another team of similar agents ran over and with surprising efficiency and competence, rushed Barney into the quinjet.

Bucky shoved his hand into his pocket, hoping Natasha's disguise would stand up under scrutiny. He jogged over to where Clint was standing. If he hadn't known they were together, he wouldn't have guessed it. Clint was pressed just a little too close to Coulson, his arm around the man's waist and he was speaking in soft tones. Despite the dampness in Clint's eyes, his cheeks were dry and his eyes clear.

"How did you get here?" Clint asked, pulling away when he saw Bucky approach.

"We were waiting for your signal when the emergency alarm went off. Laura or one of the kids must have triggered it. We came as soon as we could."

"Barney's alive," Bucky pointed out. "Your people took him on board."

Clint nodded slowly. "I, uh, should probably go let Laura and the kids know they're safe," he said, stepping away from Coulson. He gave another nod of his head, throwing a last, longing gaze at Coulson before he headed for the house.

Clint must have realized that Rumlow was lying earlier, when he said that he'd killed Laura. They hadn't seen her body, and the panic room was sealed tight. It was unlikely Rumlow had managed to get into it in the first place.

"You have good timing," he informed Coulson, watching Clint disappear into the house.

"Something I'm grateful for," Coulson said agreeably. "I don't know what killing Rumlow would have done to him."

"I think it would have broken him," Bucky said gently. "It would be the first time he killed so brutally, so viciously, for himself."

Bucky and Natasha bore those wounds themselves. Her escape from the Red Room had not gone unnoticed, and those who had noticed quickly disappeared. Bucky's own revenge had taken him through Europe nearly four years ago and he had killed a lot of people. Granted, they worked for Hydra but surely not all of them deserved the cruelty in how he handled them. Clint was clean and merciful, Natasha was quick and efficient and Bucky just… did the rest.

"He's stronger than you would expect," Coulson said thoughtfully. "It wouldn't have broken him, but it would have changed him."

Bucky glanced at Coulson. Some years ago, he'd only known of him as Clint's handler –a man that Clint had sworn by. And, after Bucky's reckless trip across Europe, when Hydra had reset him, he'd seen Coulson several times since then. Once, when he shot the Omega woman standing next to him and a second time, later on, when Coulson got in the way. He, Natasha and Clint had been sent to walk into a trap and Bucky's instructions had been quite explicit. He was to provide a distraction in order to allow the remaining Hydra agents to escape with what valuable information they could carry on them. He had fired and it was a clean shot, straight into Coulson's stomach. They hadn't seen him arrive, but Clint's arrow had nearly taken out his eye before he deflected it and left the base for S.H.I.E.L.D. to examine.

He considered not bringing it up, not mentioning that he was the one who had shot him those years ago but it didn't seem right. It seemed cowardly to say nothing. Maybe Coulson didn't know that it had been Bucky who shot him, maybe he did know, but he still deserved an apology. Bucky just wasn't sure what to say. How did you apologize for being a brainwashed assassin? If he had been himself, he wouldn't have taken the shot. He would have recognized Clint and Natasha and known the man with them was their friend and handler. He wouldn't have taken the shot. But, as it was, he shot Coulson because he was the easier target. He was closer and less guarded than Natasha and Clint both. If either Natasha or Clint had stood where Coulson had, Bucky would have shot them instead. It wasn't recognition that prevented him from shooting either of his friends, but coincidence and, perhaps for him, good luck. At Coulson's expense.

"I'm sorry for shooting you," Bucky said, shoving his flesh hand into his pocket. "Back in –Russia? I think it was Russia."

"You weren't yourself," Coulson said lightly. "I wasn't sure if you'd remember that."

"I've remembered most things," Bucky said uneasily. "You know most of those doctors that were working on me are Hydra, right?"

That was why they hadn't wanted any triggering stimuli presented to him. Coulson must have pushed and pushed hard in order to get Rebecca brought in. And it probably wasn't on file anywhere that Bucky had been the one to shoot Coulson or the doctors wouldn't have allowed him in. He wasn't exactly surprised when those memories came back, of the hospital, of the doctor's faces. He was surprised to see so many faces he could place, however. None of them had revealed themselves in pleasant circumstances either. Some of them had been Interrogators; others used the machine to wipe him clean. How they melded with S.H.I.E.L.D. he wasn't sure and he definitely didn't want to know.

Coulson sighed softly. "I was worried it would be something like that."

"You know what Steve's planning; Natasha got the plan to you?"

"I was waiting on the specifics," Coulson admitted. "She just said to standby on a signal from here."

As Bucky filled him in on Steve's plans, largely the part about releasing all of S.H.I.E.L.D's files, he saw Clint emerge from the house. He held a young boy in his arms, his hand cushioning the back of the child's head –likely to shelter him from the death and gore that was covering the house. Beside him was a heavily pregnant woman, a young toddler in her arms, face equally covered. She paused for only a moment, her mouth open in a gasp, before she was keeping pace with Clint. The two of them picked their way over the bodies and hurried into the quinjet.

"I think it's the best choice we have," Coulson admitted. "The government won't want to trust us, but that can be mended. We're the only option they have to deal with and manage the Avengers and any unexplained events." He smiled slightly. "And if someone gets you on trial, your defense can be put together and the actual people responsible can face their crimes."

Bucky hadn't thought of that. He blinked in surprise. He didn't actually know the name of the woman who had captured him, or the men she'd sold him to. But those would be on his records. His status as a missing child would also be visible. His parents had died without getting to see him –his sister had grown up an orphan, alone in the world because Hydra had stolen him away. Steve joined the military, similarly alone, and even thought that the only person who'd truly believed in him had given up on him. There was a chance that the trial everyone was demanding, could result in him facing the men and women who had placed horrors and tragedies at his feet. But he would also see the faces of his victims –people like Tony Stark, people he had left orphaned to the world and its cruelties.

"We should get started on the data dumping," Coulson said cheerfully. "Work to be done. And more to do when we get all of this into the public domain."

"Yeah, great," Bucky said bitterly.

Coulson glanced at him as they made their way into the house. "You don't like that Steve's keeping you out of the battle?"

"No," he admitted. "No. He's being stupid, doing a rescue mission on his own."

"He'll be fine," Coulson said reassuringly. "It's our turn to do our part," he added.

Bucky booted up the system in the panic room and started sorting through the S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel files. He had to wait until the very moment that Natasha released the files before he could do anything. But he tuned the comm systems and started poking at the files available to him anyway.

"Shouldn't you be in D.C?" Bucky asked.

"When the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. calls a press conference, even from Skype, people answer." Coulson smiled wryly. "Things might be different after all this, of course. But for now, I can stay here and have them come to me."

"Looks like it's starting," Bucky said uneasily, turning the screen to show Coulson the news article that popped up.

"Captain America vs Iron Man: Who Will Win?" Coulson read out. "Well," he said at last. "Let's hope they don't destroy the city."

* * *

Steve watched, handcuffed and forced to press close to Natasha as Iron Man dropped in front of them. He hoped Pepper was free, secure somewhere with Rhodes perhaps. Hulk snorted loudly, pressing a fist into the asphalt. A line of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents had formed around the building, guns uneasily holstered. No one was really breathing. Tony's face plate flipped up as he landed between Natasha and the Hulk. He turned, slowly, towards his partner. Wanda was hidden somewhere nearby, probably in a parked car with Gwen at the steering wheel.

"Hulk, we need to talk to Cap. That's all we're gonna do."

"Hulk like Cap!" he announced.

"I know buddy," Tony said lightly. "But we need to talk to him."

"No!" the Hulk pronounced, slamming his fist against the pavement. It shattered beneath the blow.

Despite Tony and Bruce's recent marriage, and the fact that Tony probably spent more time with the Hulk than anyone other than Wanda, the Hulk didn't always care for Tony. The Hulk was very much on his own and he seemed to prefer it that way for the most part.

"Tony, you –how could you do this?" Steve demanded. "He's my friend!"

"He killed my parents!" Tony replied, and there was a flash of understanding in his eyes. "I'm not going to let him kill you too!"

"You don't get to make that choice!" Steve roared, struggling against Natasha.

They needed it to look real and they needed it to be convincing. "Well you aren't in a mindset to make it," Tony retorted primly. "You aren't thinking clearly!"

The Hulk glared and roared at Tony, pounding his chest in warning. Tony drew back away from them, levitating around. Natasha eyed the Hulk warily, keeping herself between them. Steve could see the faint red tendrils curling from Wanda towards the Hulk; he could see the way the Hulk eased down slightly, calmer, more in control. Less likely to lash out unpredictably.

"Cap stay!" Hulk announced, hitting the pavement again.

The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents shifted nervously, reaching for their weapons. The Hulk either didn't notice or he didn't care. At least he didn't react though.

"He can't," Natasha said firmly.

"Cap no die!" the Hulk insisted firmly. "Cap no die!"

They _were_ starting to draw attention, Steve noticed. Not just from the uneasy S.H.I.E.L.D. agents but from the civilians who hadn't run and many of them had their phones out, were recording it. It was the first time he'd been seen in public for a week or two. It was going to go viral –usually he hated that. It was more Tony's thing to deal with.

"Steve, come on," Natasha said firmly, pressing on his back, leading him towards the ring of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. Steve hoped that Pierce was watching from his tower.

"You're going to kill me!" Steve shouted, looking towards their audience, settling his gaze on the Hulk. He could see the red in his eyes. "Don't let them do it! They're wrong! Wrong about everything!" He moved with Natasha, only because of her tight, relentless grip. He was pretty sure if he had attempted to fight her pull, he would've ended up with a dislocated shoulder.

"Cap," Tony said, and he sounded _sad_. "He isn't your friend. He's a murderer."

"He's a better friend to me than you ever were!" Steve shouted, throwing his weight away from Natasha. She lost her grip and Steve tumbled down the stairs, halfway between the Hulk and Tony.

"He's trying to kill you!" Tony snarled, whipping around to circle him. "That's what he wants!"

"He's never lifted a hand to me!" Steve yelled, getting to his feet. Natasha was on him, several agents following her. Their weapons were holstered and their focus was on Steve, not the Hulk. "Tony, you've gotta stop this. He wasn't himself! The things _they_ did to him –Hydra took him as a kid – _Tony_ –!"

Tony was shaking his head. "He isn't himself," he said, sounding older than Steve had ever heard him. There was sorrow in his voice. "Get him inside. I'll distract the Hulk."

The Hulk gave a roar and swung for Tony –Tony zipped off, just as Natasha and the three agents with her physically hauled Steve inside the building. The last thing he saw was Tony fighting the Hulk, red tendrils shooting through the air. He hoped Tony understood. They were going to need all the help they could get. And maybe, when everything was over, Tony would understand. Natasha and the agents dragged him down to the holding cells and threw him inside. It was all they could do to shut the door before he was slamming his body against it. His ribs and shoulder flared in pain as the wall shuddered, plaster crumbling. Natasha locked the door coolly.

"Calm down, Steve," she said, almost pleadingly. "It'll be over soon."

"Don't you touch him!" Steve snapped, ramming into the door again. The agents near her stepped back but she didn't even flinch. "He hasn't done anything wrong!"

"Reinforce his cell," Natasha ordered flatly. "We can deprogram him once we have Barnes. If Rogers is here in D.C. his captor won't be far!"

"He's my friend!" Steve shouted after her, as she turned to walk down the hall. "I love him," he added, his voice breaking on the words.

It wasn't a secret and he wouldn't –if anything went wrong, the world could know he loved Bucky Barnes. Natasha only slowed for less than half a step. He wouldn't die with no one knowing about it. It was a true confession, one that she had probably suspected ever since she walked in on James attempting to kill him. But now, everything was so different from then. He didn't miss James. He had someone even better. Bucky was everything. And he didn't even –he was pretty sure he hadn't even told Bucky when he'd had the time to say it. And there was no guarantee Bucky would survive this, let alone the trial he planned to attend.

Steve watched as they aimed an icer at him and brought in the steel reinforcements. He sat down on the cot. He'd been down to the cells plenty of times, mostly to drop off or check in with some of the prisoners he'd brought in but he'd never stayed in one before. It was a cell like any other, barren. Cold. And Steve firmly pushed away the memories that threatened to edge in a little, to remind him of what had happened last time he was in a cell. Bucky was safe in Indiana with Clint. Bucky wouldn't be in danger of dying until he handed himself over to the authorities. It wasn't as reassuring as he would have liked, but it would have to do. Steve blinked, watching the guards who were standing by his cell. Honestly, even with the reinforced steel having been brought in, he was pretty sure he could break out of them. And it wasn't like he could be placed in a decontainment room or whatever S.H.I.E.L.D. had built for the Enhanced. He wasn't an Enhanced; he was just a human in peak physical condition.

Even though the cells were soundproofed, they weren't immune to alarms. The Hulk had struck the building –the alarms were blaring and the guards were rousing from their positions to release the prisoners and move them. They came for Steve last and he hoped Natasha and Fury had made it to Pierce by now. When they opened his door, they were ready with stun guns. They were out of icers, as they had had to haul six unconscious prisoners away. He let them guide him out of his room, up to the lobby before he struck. Even with his hands cuffed, he managed it. He knocked the guards out and made his escape in a manner of speaking. He ran against the crowd, avoiding the watchful eyes of S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives to make his way to the nearest security desk. There, the agent on duty put up a good fight. Steve's black eye was already healing even as he turned on the emergency broadcast system. He grabbed the guard's comm unit and turned it to the channel that Clint and Bucky would be using.

"This is Steve Rogers speaking," he said, watching from his position as most of the agents stilled. It was the stillness of getting ready for a battle. "I'm here because of Bucky Barnes, because he was able to tell us what he knew. He was brought here by Hydra and he was sent to kill Director Fury because of Hydra. As a boy, he was my best friend and when I saw him again, I recognized him as that boy." Hopefully, most of S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't aware that he was married to him. "I decided to stay with him, to protect him, because I knew what most people didn't. That when he was just a boy, he'd gone missing. For eighteen years, I didn't know where he'd gone." Steve paused.

"I thought, for a time, that he was dead. And when I refused to accept even that, it was always a fear in the back of my mind. Because we all know what happens to little Omegas who vanish off the streets. They end up in Hydra's possession. Or they end up dead. For eighteen years, I searched. And finally, he found me –when Hydra sent him to kill me. So yeah, I've stood by his side and I'll do it again. Because Hydra turned an innocent child into one of the most dangerous assassins alive. And they did it all for this moment right now. Look around you. You've seen it going on for months, something here hasn't been right. Why are you putting every resource towards hunting me and Bucky down? You have jobs better suited to you. You don't need every resource on us, a handful for a taskforce would do.

"Bucky and I haven't been going around murdering people! What have you been doing hunting for us, my life was never in danger! And these orders, these outrageous orders," Steve didn't know if there were any, but he was sure by now some had to have appeared, "have been coming from Hydra. In fact, how do you think the Winter Soldier got free to kill Director Fury? Unless someone on the inside released him. And it wasn't me. I was under observation at the time, with a registered psychiatrist and four S.H.I.E.L.D. agents along with Agent Barton and Agent Romanov. It was _Hydra._ Your neighbor, your favorite analyst, someone you thought was your friend, anyone here could be Hydra. They've been here for years."

He stepped back from the radio and watched as what remained of S.H.I.E.L.D. fell into chaos. He assumed it was the Hydra agents who panicked and broke cover first, they started shooting. Some of them came towards his location. He spent those precious moments he had, snapping the cuffs off his wrist to free his hands for battle. They threw a grenade in and Steve had just enough time to throw the explosive back out before it went off in the doorway. The door blew off its hinges and slammed into Steve. Steve carried it out into the hall where the Hydra agents were, smashing it against the nearest goon before dropping it and incapacitating the next one. By then, there were S.H.I.E.L.D. agents rushing to his position. Some of them were familiar, some weren't.

But they made their way down every hall of the Triskelion, freeing the cornered agents they encountered. The ones that didn't shoot at Steve first, were safer bets, but no one trusted anyone. And Steve had no idea what was going on upstairs, whether Natasha and Fury had dealt with Pierce or not. The Hulk alarms were still going off, ringing like gongs. In some areas, the fire alarms were going off. They didn't always make it in time. Some were dying when they reached their positions, and more than he would have liked to see were dead. It was impossible to tell whether they were Hydra or S.H.I.E.L.D. Usually, the bigger groups were Hydra and they tended to be better armed. Steve couldn't say for sure if this was true of every group. He and his team of three focused on disarming, disabling and incapacitating anyone who refused to take a fingerprint scan.

One of the members on his team, a woman named Bobbi Morse, had a scanner on her. The scanner allowed them to identify the name of every agent who touched it. With that and Clint's information in their ears, they were able to identify Hydra. It was also easier once Hydra realized someone must have ratted them out because they tended to refuse to cooperate with the scans. Regardless of whether they were Hydra or not, Steve and his team also left the runners handcuffed and locked inside a room. It took them a long time, longer than he would have liked, but it was the best strategy they had. Bobbi kept up a steady chatter on her own comm system, linked to Hill, Hand and Sitwell who were all apparently under attack but they started doing the same. The Hydra agents they didn't find in the Triskelion, Clint had flagged on his end to allow the process to go faster. When that was done, Steve made his way to Pierce's office. Bobbi stayed behind to continue to coordinate with the other two officers while Agent Mackenzie stayed back to help coordinate with the medical officers.

The elevator wasn't locked when Steve reached it, so he uneasily rode it to Pierce's floor. It was unearthly silent. He followed the corridor down, dread coiling in his gut. The glass in his office had been tinted dark so he couldn't see inside. Steve kicked the door down, letting bright light filter in. Inside stood Natasha, her arms raised up, her eyes on the door. Across from her was Pierce, a gun in his hand pointing towards a distantly familiar strawberry redhead. Pepper was anything but calm –her hair was disheveled and there were tear tracks down her face. Fury was standing in front of a blinking screen, his hand on his undrawn gun.

"I do love it when a plan comes together," Pierce said. "Hello Captain Rogers." He pressed the gun more firmly against Pepper's temple. "And don't think about starting anything, please."

"I thought –"

"That Tony had rescued the missus?" Pierce laughed. "I had him cornered, captain. Even if he could save the lovely Ms. Potts, Rhodes wouldn't have been safe. Tony played you all wonderfully."

It wasn't like Tony had a choice, if his two closest friends were in danger. It wasn't a betrayal. Tony had no choice and Steve wasn't going to blame him for making the safest choice for him. Tony had been the one to give him advanced warning anyway, about everything that was going on. Tony had fought this as much as he could; Steve had no doubt about that. He could see the tightness around Natasha's eyes, the anger she was holding back.

"It's over, Pierce," Steve said. "We've arrested everyone. There's no one left to support you."

"Oh, but I think there is, captain," Pierce said warmly. "Mr. Stark, it seems I'm need of your services after all."

Iron Man flew through a window, glass shattering so far inwards it almost reached Natasha. He didn't lift his face plate. "Of course, Fury's still alive," he said, and it sounded almost like a sigh of relief.

"Stark, this isn't time for small talk. Kill Rogers."

Despite Pierce being outnumbered, he was unconcerned about it. None of them wanted to see Pepper hurt. If Clint or Bucky were here, either of them could have made the shot without injuring Pepper. But while Natasha and Fury were both excellent shots on their own, they were not snipers. And they weren't willing to risk Pepper's life. Tony was in an even harder predicament, because he _could_ make the shot and save Pepper. But Steve didn't know where Rhodes was, he didn't know if Clint and Bucky had managed to deal with whoever was guarding Rhodes. They had a lot of government alphabet soup organizations to run through first. They would need days, at least, before all the Hydra agents were dealt with. Bucky would likely only stay around long enough for Clint to flag the names and release them to each organization with instructions and explanations before he would turn himself in. Although Steve hoped he would wait longer, let all the Hydra agents be cleaned up before he turned himself in. Maybe then he wouldn't end up dead.

Tony attacked without warning, fanfare or apology. Steve didn't have his shield with him, it had been confiscated and although he'd searched for it, he had no found it. The blast of Tony's repulsor was finely controlled and it shot Steve out the doors he'd just walked through and down to the end of the hall. It didn't kill him. But he could feel his ribs break under the pressure and it was reminiscent of his asthma days when it was impossible to take a fresh breath of air. That wasn't to mention the burning agony of his skin where it had burned, clean and neatly. Not that it was a surprise, but Steve had mostly forgotten that he was wearing regular clothes and not a suit.

He could stay down, right here, and wait it out. But Fury wasn't on good terms with Pierce, and he wasn't as durable as either Steve or Natasha. And Pepper was still in the room, still trapped there. If only they'd known that Rhodes was in danger too. Maybe it was something Pierce had been waiting to hold over Tony when the time came and as such he'd been forced into a corner. If Pierce got out of this alive, there would nothing and no one to save him from Tony's revenge. Not to mention Bucky's. Steve pushed himself to his feet, sparing a moment to be grateful that Tony hadn't blown a hole through his sternum. He wasn't sure if even he could have survived _that_.

He wheezed out a shaky, pained breath as he got to his feet. He could already feel his bones shifting, easing the pressure marginally with each staggered step he took. He leaned against the wall for support, pushing forward determinedly. He wasn't going to leave Tony to face this on his own. He reached to his comm, thumbing it back on, listening for Clint's voice or Bucky's. He wasn't halfway down the hall yet. The burns weren't healing and his ribs would need way more time. He could take a half-breath without pain, but anything more than that _ached_ and it hurt to breathe when he tried.

"Clint? I need someone to check on Rhodes."

"Shit," Clint said, quite audible. "On it." He could hear a phone ringing and the sound of someone typing –probably Bucky, searching for relevant information. "You okay, Cap?" Clint asked. The phone continued to ring.

"Could be worse," Steve answered truthfully. "Get Rhodes safe and then… I don't know."

"He's in a safe house," and that was definitely Bucky's voice. "Hydra couldn't get him out, but they're posted outside of it. Coulson's sent off some agents to go deal with it."

"May and Skye are on it," Clint supplied. "They're good. Rhodes is safe. But he's locked down hard, Hydra has cut off his communication and he's separated from War Machine." Clint paused for a long moment. "Don't let him do something he'll regret," Clint said at last. "And don't do something you'll regret either."

"Since when did you get so bossy?" Steve teased, flicking his comm off before Clint's response could come through.

He staggered into Pierce's office again. Tony was aiming at Fury while he and Pierce talked about Bodega. Fury was doing a good job of distracting him as Natasha palmed one of her Widow's Bites. Steve straightened to his full height, giving an over exaggerated wheeze. Pierce turned, his face darkening.

"I wanted him dead, Stark!" he barked.

"Rhodes is safe," Steve said. "He's inn his safe house. Hydra has him pinned down but they can't get in and Rhodes can't leave." He ran out of breath to speak, and slumped down, inhaling softly.

"Lies!" Pierce snarled. "He doesn't know what he's –"

Tony fired, dropping to the floor. The missile curled away from Fury and with unerring accuracy slammed into Pierce's chest, throwing him away from Pepper. If Pierce had been using Pepper as a shield, the story would have been different, but he'd been keeping his gun pressed to her temple. As it was, he didn't even get a shot out before he dropped. The missile was one of the rounded, plastic shots that Tony used for crowd control. Instantly, Fury was on his feet, firing two bullets neatly into Pierce's heart. Pepper fell forward, crying and Natasha and Tony were both there, speaking to her in low, soothing tones. Steve smiled weakly at the sight and promptly let himself pass out. He didn't even remember hitting the floor.

Steve woke slowly, in a dimly lit room, the only sound the steady beeping of his heart. Hospital, then. He was more than familiar with them. His chest still ached, likely the ribs that were healing. He wasn't sure how long it had been since he'd lost consciousness, but if it was any longer than a day, he was thinking that moving in that condition was the worst thing he could have done for his body. But he wasn't dead and there weren't tubes down his throat, and he could breathe without too much difficulty so it wasn't the end of the world either. He turned his head slowly and blinked in surprise to see that curled up in the chair next to his bed was Tony. The other man wasn't asleep and there were dark circles under his eyes; his styled goatee was more a beard and his clothes were rumpled. Steve was pretty sure there were some blood stains on it, but it was hard to see. He was curled up on his chair, fingers tapping soundlessly against the arm, staring out the window. In his other hand was his cell phone, which he seemed to be resolutely ignoring.

"On your left," Steve croaked, knowing that Tony wouldn't get the joke and not caring in the slightest.

Tony startled so badly he dropped his phone and nearly fell off the chair. "You're alive."

"Yeah," Steve answered. "Looks like it."

"I didn't –" Tony cut himself off, frowning at Steve. "You should be sleeping. Conserve your energy or whatever invalids like yourself do."

"Ha, funny," Steve drawled, his voice hoarse. "I might, if only I wasn't dying of thirst."

"Oh, so that's all it takes to kill you?" Tony asked his voice strained and oddly high. "Just some –some dehydration."

"Yeah," Steve answered, struggling to focus on what Tony's issue was. "Could you get me some?"

"What do I look like?" Tony grouched, getting to his feet. "Do I look like your nurse? Get someone else."

Tony, predictably, returned a few moments later with a paper cup full of icy water and a straw. He handed it over. Steve carefully caught the straw between his lips and took a long, refreshing drink. He leaned back against the stiff pillows and let his eyes drift shut. He was vaguely aware of Tony taking the cup away, muttering something about hospitals and super-heroes needing better care. If not for the fact that the next time Steve woke up, Tony was still there, he might have convinced himself it was a nightmare.

"Tony?" he asked, staring at the other man incredulously. "What are you doing here?" Tony was definitely sporting a beard now, if he hadn't been before. And his clothes were in rough shape.

"What do you think I'm doing here?" he replied tartly.

Steve blinked. "You need to get some sleep," he said. "And shave the carpet off your face."

Tony scowled, touching his beard defensively. "I happen to hear you had a beard not too long ago, Cap."

"I was in disguise," Steve argued. "You're Tony Stark. And right now, you look like a homeless vagabond." He paused, eyeing Tony's appearance skeptically. "Have you been eating my hospital food too?"

Tony made a face. "I wouldn't touch _that_ even if I was in my suit," he replied, sounding vaguely offended. "That stuff could be poisoned or radioactive for all I know."

"Then you haven't been eating either," Steve pointed out with a sigh. "Tony, go home."

"You're one to talk," Tony fired back. "I could have killed you."

"You didn't."

Tony blinked. "It's not that simple, Cap."

"I knew you wouldn't kill me."

"I could have hit you somewhere less damaging; I could have reduced the power output."

"You were on the spot and you needed it to look real. I'm not dead, Tony."

"Your ribs punctured your lungs!" Tony said, jumping to his feet. "You nearly _did_ die! You moron!"

"It wouldn't be the first time," Steve said calmly. "I've spent my whole life nearly dying, Tony. It doesn't scare me."

"Well maybe it should!" Tony growled. "You know there are people out there, who care about you, who –who love you and where would you leave them? Natasha, Clint, _Barnes_. Huh? You dead, where would that leave them?"

"It wouldn't have been my fault," Steve started hesitantly.

"That's right. It would've been mine!" Tony shouted. "All of that, on _me._ "

"I wasn't trying to die, to get killed," Steve retorted, sitting up slowly. His chest didn't hurt, and he could still breathe evenly so that was good. "It wouldn't have been your fault. You didn't have a choice."

"I goddamn well did," Tony muttered, falling back into his chair. "If I'd taken the risk, bet that Rhodey would be alright…"

"As far as you knew, he would've died. I don't know what Pierce told you, it doesn't matter. I'm fine. You didn't kill me."

"Fuck you Rogers," Tony said, sighing heavily as he leaned back in his chair exhaustedly.

"Just looking at you makes me feel tired," Steve said gently, refusing to back down.

"Go home. Sleep."

"I can't," Tony said. "I made a promise to someone."

Steve snorted. "Bruce? I'm pretty sure Bruce would rather have you home and safe. Pepper and Rhodes too."

"Not to them," Tony said, focusing his gaze on Steve. There was a heaviness in his manor that he rarely carried with him, except for when they were fighting. Steve hadn't thought this was that kind of a fight. "Made it to your boyfriend."

Steve blinked. " _Bucky?_ "

Tony nodded tiredly. "Yeah, him. Did you forget about him when you were walking down that corridor, driving your rib into your lung with every step you took?"

So that's why it had hurt so much. "Didn't want you to have to almost kill anyone else," he answered honestly. "What about Bucky?"

Tony huffed. "You two are a broken record, seriously. I'm so glad Bruce and I never went through all this crap. He's in jail, Rogers. His defense that he could escape if he really wanted to, wasn't enough to convince the judge that he wouldn't flee the country and murder people." He waved his hand, a 'what can you do' sort of gesture. "He didn't know you were in the hospital of course. I wanted to see him myself, what kind of guy _could_ kill my parents in cold blood." He smiled bitterly. "He just made me promise to give him updates on how you were doing and to not leave your side until you were talking."

Steve was halfway out of his bed, easily removing the needles they'd stabbed him with. He didn't need them anymore. "It wasn't his fault."

"Yeah, got the whole spiel from Natasha and Clint. Did you know they were Hydra?"

"They were assassins, and no, I didn't. Not until I found out my fiancé had been trying to kill me on someone else's order. Clint told me." Steve searched through the nightstand, pulling out a hoodie and sweatpants that someone had brought for him.

"Yeah, I was surprised too. Also, Cap, I really don't need to see your ass. Sit back down. Barnes isn't going anywhere."

"I don't care," Steve said. "He's being stupid. He doesn't have to do this." He ignored Tony, pulling his sweatpants on.

"He doesn't?" Tony almost laughed, but there was no humor in it. "He damn well does Rogers, and at least he understands that much!"

Steve glared at him. "They could put him on death row, or life in prison."

"D.C. doesn't do death row," Tony corrected. "And yes, he has to stand before a court. He has to explain what he did."

"What for?" Steve demanded, irritated, as he pulled off the gown someone had stuffed him into.

"For his victims," Tony pointed out coldly. "Because some of us don't know why our parents died. Some of us need the closure. And Barnes. Barnes is the only one with those answers."

"He wasn't in control of himself," Steve argued, impatient. He pulled the hoodie on.

"He won't leave," Tony said at last. "He won't leave his cell. And he doesn't need your protection."

"I need to see him."

"What if he doesn't want to see you?" Tony asked.

"Why would he tell you that?" Steve replied, tugging his shoes on.

"Because I'm directly affected by what he did. What he had no choice to do, whatever, come on Cap. Because he told me he doesn't want to repeat everything for the rest of his life. He just wants to say it once and be done with it." Tony sighed. "He even apologized to me for that, because I was the only one who went and saw him."

"Natasha? Clint?" Steve asked, tying his laces.

"They're boycotting his trial," Tony said reluctantly. "They don't support what he's doing so they're shutting themselves off from him. But Clint made sure to corner me and pass on the message that if Bucky ever decides to call the whole thing off and needs an escape, he and Natasha would be more than willing to provide it."

Steve shook his head. "I can't let him do this, Tony. They could kill him."

"Who could?" Tony countered, standing in front of him. "Hydra? Hydra's either dead or in jail. They've done their trials, said their pieces. And for your information, the judge mandated Barnes to a clean prison. No Hydra."

Steve hesitated, staring down at Tony uneasily. "I can't let him do this alone. I won't."

"He said you'd say that," Tony sighed. "And he told me to say that it's something he has to do on his own."

Steve scowled. "He doesn't. He's been through enough –"

"I've been waiting twelve years to hear about this!" Tony shouted, gently pushing Steve back. "Twelve years. My parents dead and gone, leaving _me_ stuck with Obadiah. Leaving me in that hell of a life. I need to know. And Barnes does not want you near this one."

"Tony –"

Tony growled in frustration. "Think about it like this. What's going to happen to him if Captain America keeps coming to his defense? Keeps picking every fight he takes? No one would take him seriously. Because the story would begin and end with _your_ name. Not his. Those people he murdered? They die without their stories being shared, and their children and grandchildren get left with no answers. You'll be his new handler," Tony spat, "controlling who he can speak to so that no one'll hurt his –"

"Stop," Steve said, aghast.

"Feelings by accident. Because he's poor, traumatized Bucky Barnes –"

"Stop!" Steve repeated, louder, eyes widening with horror. "That's not what I want –"

"You'll make his story about _you_. About how _your_ best friend was taken in by Hydra, about how worried you are about what reliving the trauma will do to him. You'll be the one he has to –"

Steve shoved Tony back. "Stop," he pleaded, "Tony, stop."

That wasn't what he wanted. He didn't want to lose Bucky. He didn't want – he didn't want Bucky to hurt anymore. He'd spent eighteen years of his life being torn apart and he didn't need anyone else doing it. Steve sat back down on his hospital bed and ripped his shoes back off. Tony was wrong, about Steve becoming Bucky's new Hydra. He had a point, but he was still wrong. Steve would _never_ go that far. And Bucky certainly wouldn't let him, but the point was there. The potential of harm he could do by wanting to do good. And if Bucky… if Bucky didn't want him there, he had to listen, didn't he? It wasn't his choice on whether he wanted to visit Bucky, on whether he wanted to sit in the courtroom and support him. It was _Bucky's_ choice on whether Steve got to do any of that or not. And as far as the media was concerned, probably even now, they thought Steve had been brainwashed by him. His defense of Bucky would do more harm than good. And he was supposed to be here, healing. Actually, a nurse or doctor would probably be by soon to see why his heart monitor had stopped and they'd probably release him then.

He could go home. The thought was so strange and foreign he didn't know what to do with it. He hadn't been home in what felt like months. Honestly, his house hadn't been home since Bucky had woken up. And he didn't know how to fix that, or if it was fixable. So he was just going to leave it alone for as long as he could. Maybe he would stay in the Avengers Tower for a while. There was always room there and if he needed to go back to D.C. for anything, it was just a short jet ride away. It wasn't that bad of an idea. Tony and Bruce would both be there. And he would be surprised if neither Clint nor Natasha showed up sometime during that. Then again, Natasha preferred to spend her downtime in Hell's Kitchen these days. Still, the day of the trial, he would expect her to be there. Bucky meant a lot to her and Clint both. And with Tony flying to see the trial every day it was held, there would be no shortage of news updates.

Before he could say anything, doctors and nurses rushed into the room only to start squawking about the importance of the heart monitor and the drugs they'd had him on. He felt a little bad, he knew how important those things were but they meant nothing in the face of Bucky's danger. But he sat back and behaved, he let the doctors paw at him before declaring him healthy and he watched the nurses eye his chest with appreciation before they shuffled out with the doctor. At some point, Tony had returned to his chair and fallen asleep. Steve kept silent, deciding to let Tony sleep as he clearly needed it.

For all the arguing he and Tony had done, he did respect him. Tony was the only one of his friends who would stand up to his face and tell him that he was wrong. In that way, Tony and Bucky were alike. However, years of friendship softened the blows when Bucky delivered them. Tony always tried to be more abrasive to get his point across and Steve hated that. Natasha wouldn't tell him he was wrong outright, she would let him figure it out on his own and then smirk smugly at him for the rest of the week. Clint didn't really give out advice, unless it was about combat or an area that he had plenty of experience in. He would just stand next to Steve and state how he saw situations and how he expected them to unfold. He never fought to establish himself as being right and everyone else wrong –maybe because he was used to having such a small area of expertise. Bruce was more of a listener, he preferred to listen and Steve didn't like having to talk all that much. But when he did, he liked to go to Bruce. Bruce was nothing if not level-headed and calm.

Steve couldn't fall back asleep. He was too rested, too wide awake and burning with restless energy. But he forced his mind to wander, away from Bucky. It was the last thing he wanted to do, but, as things stood he was going to have to endure it. His phone chimed and he spent a few moments searching through his belongings in the nightstand before he produced it. There was a voicemail from an unfamiliar number. He dialed and listened.

"This is Matthew Murdock of Nelson and Murdock attorneys at law. I am calling you on behalf of my client, Mr. Barnes, who I will be representing in court. I would like to meet with you as soon as you are able, please contact me at…"

* * *

 _A/N thank you kind commenter, you get me through the bad days and remind me there's people still out there invested in this story even when I doubt where I'm going and whether or not anyone will actually like it. For you, I will be uploading the final chapters today. And a belated holiday to you -I forgot that the American Thanksgiving had just occurred when I last updated. I eagerly await your comments :)_


	13. This Is Gospel

Prison wasn't so bad. There was no one torturing him, or trying to rough him up. Bucky supposed that between his vibranium arm and the assortment of scars he wore and his reputation, someone trying to fight him was unlikely. Whoever had been in charge of putting him in jail had been exceptionally thorough in making sure none of the men housed in the facility were connected to the Winter Soldier or Hydra. Mostly the other inmates gave him plenty of space. And if he decided that he wanted to use the weights instead, the inmates tended to shuffle out of the way. He assumed it had more to do with his reputation than even his metal arm, because he knew that if they decided to gang up on him, they could pin his arm with enough force. He didn't press his luck or influence very often. Like the other inmates seemed to prefer it, he kept to himself. Although his vibranium arm was essentially an enhanced weapon, it was merged to his flesh and it couldn't be removed without surgery. Even then, he wasn't sure how that would work out. With Murdock defending him and his promises to not kill anyone in the prison, they let him keep his arm. (It was a little ridiculous that they even had to argue about it; it was _his arm_.)

But he wasn't oblivious to the scathing, envious glances other prisoners directed his way. Bucky was the new guy, and if he wanted to, he could step on the toes of the petty criminal bosses without punishment. It did not go unnoticed. The glares came mostly from men who had been imprisoned for six months to a year, who should have had seniority, but instead found themselves in the same place they'd been for a year. It wasn't hard to measure who had been in the prison longer and who hadn't spent much time there. There was a hard edge in the more senior inmates that the younger ones lacked. Generally, the younger ones seemed crueler, more willing to go to extremes to get them out of their situation. So Bucky kept to himself.

It wasn't that hard, since he'd been gifted with a single cell. It didn't help matters with most of the inmates, but he'd made sure to protest loudly that if he had a cell mate, they couldn't blame or charge him for murdering the bastard in his sleep. It _was_ a distinct possibility after all. And with Murdock on his case, it was almost laughable at the speed in which the warden rolled over and moved the prisoners around so Bucky could have a room to himself. His protest to the guards had been more for his benefit, a way to draw the prisoners' attention to him. After his first night, no one eyed his cell with envious interest. He had woken up screaming himself hoarse, fighting an invisible assailant.

His fellow prisoners were also unrelated to the Avengers, for which he was thankful. They had relocated him to the prison nearest the D.C. courthouse his trial would be held in. Partly for convenience. While they didn't trust that he wouldn't run, Judge Palmer had apparently taken his defense in counsel. There _wasn't_ a jail that could hold him in if he really wanted out. Murdock insisted this was a good sign and also used the opportunity to remind Bucky about the importance of legal aid and being able to draw on a lawyer like him. He'd apparently made some big shock waves in Hell's Kitchen and even though he was "just a friend of Natasha's" he wasn't just some lawyer doing pro bono work. Bucky didn't have a penny to his name and he had refused _both_ Clint and Natasha's offer to cover the expense. This fight was his and his alone. And, after he was ordered to spend his time in jail waiting for the trial to begin, he decided it would be a good idea to take Natasha's recommended lawyer.

It helped that Murdock wasn't just a stuffed suit. He wasn't at all what Bucky had been expecting in a lawyer. And that was doubly true for his partner, Foggy Nelson, who had attended a few meetings between them. They were both casual, despite the suits they were wearing, and they used a limited number of legal jargon for which Bucky was grateful. Even if he didn't appreciate the fact that Murdock had consulted with Steve against Bucky's wishes.

"He needed to know that he can't be seen speaking to the media," Murdock pointed out patiently. "And he needed to know that _we've_ got this trial covered."

"And you know, having Captain America for your character witness, wouldn't be a bad thing," Foggy added.

Since the prosecutor's objective was to defame his character and paint a picture of the horrors the Winter Soldier had committed, he needed to have a few people in his corner.

"No," Bucky growled. "I don't want Steve involved in this."

"I understand," Murdock said smoothly, either unaware or content to ignore the outraged protest Foggy had voiced. "We won't involve him. But he needed to know some of the basics; I was worried he might go to the media."

"Stark's got him locked down," Bucky argued. "You shouldn't have told him anything."

"Won't happen again," Murdock assured him. "Now, how do you feel about Natasha Romanov or Clint Barton speaking to your shared experiences?"

Bucky sighed. "If they'll do it, they're welcome to it." They shouldn't have to. They should just flat out refuse to do it. They didn't need their ugly, shameful pasts spread across the world. Then again, since they had released all of S.H.I.E.L.D's files online those stories were already out there.

Foggy wrote something down. "What about your sister?"

"She can help to establish who you were as a kid," Murdock explained, forestalling Bucky's protest. "Explain how you weren't a psychopath as a child the way the prosecution is going to try and convince the jury."

"Yeah, she can," Bucky said feeling impossibly tired. He hadn't wanted to involve so many people in this, but apparently it was happening anyway.

"And Phil Coulson?" Murdock asked, smiling faintly. "He contacted us, wanting to offer you whatever help he can."

Bucky sat back in his chair, looking between his lawyers. "If he wants to, sure." It was hard to believe someone like Coulson actually wanted to be involved –unless, maybe, it was for Clint's benefit.

"Assuming Barney Barton has recovered well enough, we intend to call upon him as a witness," Foggy said. "He was present when you saved his life and it might be enough to convince the jury that you're a different person now."

"What about Clint?"

"He's your friend; it'll be harder for the jury to accept his story. He's mentioned how you saved him before, the prosecution will want to frame it as this being Mr. Barton's way of repaying you."

Bucky made a face. His friends were the _Avengers_ and they were all too noble to do that kind of a thing. Except maybe Tony Stark. But it wasn't like Tony was going to be their witness –he was one of the prosecution's witnesses. Seeing as how Bucky had killed his parents, he would be giving testimony to the pain and loss he had lived through due to that loss. Honestly, after Tony came to visit him in jail, his opinion of the man had improved. Prior to that, he'd known only of Tony by reputation and through the one memory that James had possessed of him. Neither had left much in the way of a positive impression. But when Tony had come to see him in jail, everything about the man had been different.

"I heard you turned yourself in," Tony had said, leaning back against the wall as the guards led Bucky into the visitor's room.

"Yeah," Bucky had replied, guarded. He'd had no reason to deny Tony's visit.

As had Bucky sat, allowing the guards to chain him to the table, he spared a moment to look over Tony's appearance. Since S.H.I.E.L.D. had fallen, no one had seen him and it was obvious why. He looked exhausted, like he hadn't slept in hours. No one knew what had gone on at the Triskelion. And as much as Bucky had wanted to hear about Steve, to make sure Steve had survived, he didn't want to risk Steve's interference. So he turned himself in.

"I've spent twelve years, trying to figure out who would have killed my parents. _Why_. Well, not _why_ in a general –there were a lot of people who wanted my father dead. My mother didn't have a single enemy –she was innocent and yet. And yet someone killed her too."

Bucky had dropped his gaze from Tony's. "I'm sorry. I… I don't know if I can answer your questions. In a matter of days, they'll be dragging me through court, wringing this out of me then. And you, like everyone I've… hurt, you deserve those answers. I can't keep reliving this every time."

Tony snorted. "You mean won't," he said derisively.

"No, I mean _can't_ ," Bucky had corrected. "I mean, it's physically, emotionally and mentally exhausting. I didn't kill anyone because I wanted to –I killed them because it was that or something worse. How do you think I lost my arm? In some battle?" He scoffed. "I wish. So it's either tell the story five million times, or tell it once. I'm sorry, but I _can't_. I'll answer every question you have when I'm on stand."

"That's why you're going on the stand?" Tony had asked.

"You ever tell anyone about Afghanistan?" Bucky had demanded. "Imagine having to tell it to the families of every man and woman you left dead –granted, the people I killed hadn't done anything that terrible. I have to relive what Hydra did to me, in order to get me to cooperate."

Granted, it wasn't every time they had to torture him, but it was enough. It was _more_ than enough. He learned to stop fighting back. And while he had killed more people without having been tortured into agreement, there were some that he had flat out refused. In moments when he could remember who his targets were, when he knew they had been doing good in the world. Sometimes, he didn't remember them but he knew what they were doing. So he refused and they hauled him down to the Interrogators.

"You haven't even asked about Steve," Tony had deflected, waving his hand airily.

"Why? He's alive isn't he?"

"He's stable," Tony had agreed and Bucky had felt a spark of panic lance through his chest. "Hydra had my best friend imprisoned, they told me they'd put a bullet through his head if I didn't cooperate. So I lied and told Natasha and the others that they were safe because Pierce was watching me. Steve –Steve was a casualty of that."

Bucky had clenched his hands and inhaled deeply. "Don't let him come here. I don't want to see him and I don't want him involved in this." He exhaled. "Stable –he's okay, right?"

"He decided to get back up and walk in, to tell me one of my friends was safe. He ended up pushing one of his ribs into his lungs –he's lucky he survived it. But yes, he's okay. The doctors think he'll wake up any day now."

"If I could, I would tell you right now. I would tell you everything." Just the thought of it made him feel queasy and nauseated.

"You're not what I was expecting."

"You saw who I was in Las Vegas, you should've seen who I was three years before that, and eight years before that and eighteen years ago." Bucky had shaken his head. "Sometimes it's hard to know who –or what –I am. I've been a lot of different things to a lot of different people. Including myself."

"We can't all know who we are." Tony had slid his hands into his pockets.

"Tony Stark, the merchant of death and the American traitor, betraying the military for eco-friendly energy products. Iron Man."

"I saw what my life's work and reputation had accomplished," Tony had agreed.

"Death, destruction and needless waste," Bucky supplied. "I'm putting myself on trial because I need to own up for what I've done. Because although Hydra –coerced me, tortured me, into doing what I've done, I was their tool. And I want to apologize and explain because no one deserves to grow up alone."

He'd seen what that had done to Steve, what it had ultimately cost him. And he was afraid that he would see it in Rebecca soon, when he got to see her next. Tony had shrugged and nodded, appearing vaguely impressed.

"Also," Murdock said, drawing Bucky's attention back to the present. "Captain Rogers would like you to sign this." He pushed the sheaf of paper towards him.

Bucky pulled it closer, frowning as he flipped through the pages. "A divorce?"

"An annulment," Murdock said. "The grounds of your marriage were never real. They were a pretense on Hydra's part –Agata Krupin, the leader of the Alpha Council, is going on trial next week."

"What for?" Bucky asked, distracted. He could vaguely remember the woman who had demanded to meet him –James.

"For one, she's Hydra," Foggy said amusedly.

"And while she did have the legal grounds to force a marriage on Steve, she ignored all the gaps in your –James Barnes' files. She is being charged with intent to murder Captain Rogers."

Bucky glanced up at him in surprise. "She was Hydra?"

Foggy nodded. "Yeah man, I was surprised when I heard too. They arrested Senator Stern as well."

Bucky looked at the papers. He felt numb –he remembered Steve having mentioned that he had attempted to file for a divorce, but he didn't think it would be like this. He picked up a pen and signed his name neatly underneath Steve's artistic scrawl. Their marriage hadn't been real. James Barnes had never existed. But the memories were nice, sweet and comforting in a way few others were. Aside from his childhood, which sometimes felt more like a dream, they were probably the best memories he had. But the memories didn't belong to him. They belonged to James Barnes and Steve Rogers. And it wasn't like his signing of the annulment meant that Steve didn't want him. He was the one pushing Steve away, after all. And it wasn't like signing these papers meant he would never see Steve again either. He pushed them back over to Murdock and Foggy.

If anything, he had accepted that nothing could really keep him separate from Steve. Not Hydra, not time, not a failed? marriage. Not even an assassination attempt. And Steve's closest friends were Bucky's friends too. It was a small, small world for him and Steve. He had a feeling that even if he did try to avoid Steve, for the rest of their lives, they would be running and bumping into each other's shadows everywhere. Bucky didn't believe in soulmates, but if he didn't know any better, he could have sworn that the universe had decided they needed to be together. There were too many coincidences lined up between him and Steve. Honestly, he was scared to ever look at Steve's service records for fear of seeing how many times they could have, or had nearly, crossed paths. For instance the op in Russia where he'd shot Coulson, Steve could have been there. They had eighteen years between, but Bucky had little doubt about the fact that their paths had probably been intersecting from the second Steve was deployed. It was a good thing he liked Steve as much as he did –he had no intention to run from whatever was happening between them.

* * *

"The prosecution would like to call Anthony Stark to the stand," Joyce Milligan announced smoothly. Like her name, her very voice seemed light and overly sweet. Her bright orange hair was severely pinned back in a bun that aged her nearly twenty years. She couldn't have been over forty, but she somehow managed to look nearly sixty. For all her pleasantries and bright, effervescent smiles, she was doing her best to tear Bucky's case apart.

Her opening statement had included use of the words "potentially genocidal, mass-murdering risk to the public." According to her, if he was let free he would just return to the only job he really knew –that of an assassin. It had been a very good opening, honestly. Bucky had been simultaneously impressed with her needlessly large vocabulary and her single-minded determination to see him dead or in jail for life. Anytime he caught her looking his way, it was with a dark scowl that seemed to suck the very life out of her whole being. It wasn't a good look on her. Tony made his way to the stand, swearing to tell the truth before the judge and the court before he sat down.

"Mr. Stark, you were nineteen years old when your parents were assassinated correct?" Joyce asked benignly.

"Yes," Tony answered, shifting uncomfortably. His gaze landed on Bucky.

"And as a direct result of their passing, you were placed into the care of Obadiah Stane?"

"I think everyone in the country knows that," Tony said flippantly, leaning back in his seat.

He had to be uncomfortable, this wasn't easily going to be a deeply personal matter, but he was sitting with his back straight and his hands resting on the arms. There were a few chuckles in the gathered crowd. Murdock had already explained that due to the nature of his case and the fact that there was so much media attention, it had to be an open case. There was a sketch artist and several reporters inside, taking notes. Each of his victims' stories would be broadcast. There was no escape for any of them. He needed the world to understand what had happened. He regretted the lives he had taken from these people and he wished there was another way to do this –one where cameras and open audiences were permitted.

Joyce smiled patiently. "But I don't think many people know who Obadiah was behind his persona?"

Tony sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. "I was touring in Afghanistan, showing off new weapons, the usual," he shrugged uneasily. "I got caught. Or rather, Obadiah had told the Ten Rings where I was going to be and he sold me out to them. I didn't learn about that until I got back." He smiled faintly. "And as the price for staying with him, because he was my legal guardian until I found a partner who could… _handle_ me, appropriately, I was locked in my mansion. If I wanted to eat or go somewhere, _do_ something, I had to do whatever Obadiah asked to get privileges."

"And, Mr. Stark, forgive me, but what were your parents like?"

Tony shrugged. "They were my parents. They were busy; they let me do what I wanted. I did the kind of things Dad liked. Built weapons, helped out here and there with the company."

"And your mother?"

"She was –she was my mother. She ran the Maria Stark Foundation, organized charity events, put money into the community. She used to bring me with her to the events, whenever Dad couldn't make it."

"And it was at one of these events that you met James Rhodes, and later, Pepper Potts?"

"Yeah. I was about fourteen when I met Rhodey. I was like, eighteen when I met Pepper."

"What was it like, losing them, at such a young age?"

Tony shifted, his focus returning to Joyce. He seemed to take a long moment to reign himself in, to pull back his sardonic and biting response. He turned his attention on someone else in the audience. Bucky watched as Tony worked his jaw, letting out a heavy sigh.

"It was –world ending," he said. "Shattering, devastating. There aren't words for it unless you've lived it." He lifted a shoulder. "One minute I had the freedom that any other youth would have and the next, it was torn away from me."

"Do you think it would have been different if your parents had lived and you had stayed with them instead?"

A dark look crossed Tony's face. "I think –everything, would be different, if they were here right now."

Bucky dropped his gaze to his desk. He hadn't known what Tony had gone through. For as much as Tony avoided saying the words, avoided the connotation of what he was saying, he had been abused. He had been a slave to some man that he'd probably trusted.

"Could you tell the court what some of those differences would look like?" Joyce asked kindly.

Tony was definitely watching someone in the crowd. Bucky turned and was surprised to see that it was Bruce, sitting in the front row. The other man was wearing a rumpled suit, plain glasses and smiling supportively in Tony's direction. Bucky scanned the room again, just to check, to make sure Steve hadn't snuck in. He wasn't sure whether he was disappointed or relieved to see that Steve was listening to what he had asked of him.

Tony sighed, heavy and echoing in the small room. "If they were here… I wouldn't have been traded to a terrorist organization like a slave. I wouldn't have built the Iron Man suits. If they were here, I could have married Pepper. If they were here, when I got married to my partner, they would have been there every step of the way. Sure, my father was more traditional than my mother, but she was good at convincing him. My wedding wouldn't have been small, limited to friends and family, it would have been a public affair." Tony moved as though to stand. "If they were here, _none_ of us would be here right now."

"Thank you, Mr. Stark," Joyce said demurely. "The prosecution rests, Your Honor."

"Defense?" Judge Palmer asked.

Murdock got to his feet, gingerly moving around the desk towards the witness box. Tony settled back down, uneasy. He was probably itching to get out of here and Bucky didn't blame him. He also couldn't help but wonder whether this was the first time Tony had been in court. From everything that he'd heard of the man, he was usually abrasive and antagonistic in these situations. Then again, most of those situations probably hadn't been as personal as this one was.

"Forgive me if I'm a little blunt here, Mr. Stark," Murdock said lightly, shifting so his back was to the jury. "But I remember hearing frequent reports of you having escaped the mansion you were locked in and cavorting around town."

Tony smirked. "Yes, well, I never said Obadiah was _successful_ at keeping me locked up. He left me with free range of my lab. And every escape –"

"How many years were you in Obadiah's care?"

"Four," Tony replied guardedly.

"And in those four years, how many times would you say you managed to escape from your mansion?"

"I don't know," Tony said, flapping a hand. "I didn't keep track."

"So, certainly more than once and let's say no less than a hundred?"

Tony jerked upright in his seat. "Less than fifty," he snapped.

"I thought you didn't keep track?"

"It wasn't that often," Tony said definitively.

"So you probably escaped once a month then? Four years, fifty escape attempts?"

Tony grounded his teeth. "Something like that."

"Why didn't you ever report Obadiah to the police?" Murdock asked. "Since he was so horrible."

"He was my legal guardian," Tony snapped. "My father had filled out all the paperwork, declaring that as an Omega, I was not to take over the company until I got married to a proper, respectable Alpha who met Obadiah's standards." He scoffed. "Which meant, eloping wouldn't cut it as the marriage had to go through Obadiah first."

"But why not go to the police and report Obadiah's attempts to lock you up?" Murdock pressed.

"You aren't an Omega, are you?" Tony replied scathingly. "Because if I went to them, reported him, they wouldn't give a damn. I was an errant Omega and they didn't want to deal with a rape case or worse if I turned up dead, so they'd just hand me back to Obadiah, assume that my guardian knew what he was doing. Oh? And why didn't I go to an Omega rights organization? Hmm, well because I'm Tony Stark and even if I did, no organization with a pro bono legal team could survive the Stark Industries legal team!"

Murdock nodded slowly, leaning his weight against his white cane. "You have a valid point, Mr. Stark. I just have one final question for you." He smiled, apologetic. "I'm afraid you're not going to like it very much."

"Because they've been so much fun already," Tony muttered bitterly.

"Mr. Stark, in your opinion, have you done more good for the world because of the hardships you endured under Obadiah's guardianship?"

Tony glared at him. "You're right. I don't like it." He glanced at the judge, clearly intending to not answer. Joyce was shaking her head, looking murderous.

"Your answer, Mr. Stark," the judge said.

"I don't have one," Tony snapped defensively. "I don't know what I could have done if my parents had still been here. I wouldn't have taken over the company until Dad died, so I guess he would have still been killing a lot of people. I don't know –I made and sold weapons and did a lot of bad. I don't know if Iron Man can make up for that, for any of it." He glared at Murdock. "Done?" he demanded.

Murdock smiled gently. "No more questions, Your Honor."

* * *

"The defense calls Clint Barton to the stand," Matt said, rising to his feet.

Bucky watched as Clint took to the stand, swearing to tell the truth in front of the court before he sat down. It was impressive, but he somehow managed to look more uncomfortable than Tony had. It could have been the suit, a well-fitting black ensemble. Or it could have been the fact that he was going to be talking about the horrible things they had done together. Bucky had already seen Natasha and Coulson sitting together in the crowd, as near to the front as they could get. Tony was noticeably absent from the proceedings –Bucky figured he wouldn't be showing up again until it was Bucky's turn to take the stand.

"Mr. Barton, could you tell the court how you came to meet the defendant?"

Bucky could see the way Clint fidgeted at his formal address. It was almost funny except for how Clint-like it was. "I uh, I was fifteen. Traveling with a circus and my older brother. He, uh, he needed some cash pretty bad and so he got in touch with some Hydra agent. And he, uh, he sold me. To Hydra. I didn't –I hadn't understood what was going on at first. And then they drugged me and carted me all around the place. I, uh, I must have done something right. Got the right kind of attention and they shipped me out to West Virginia so I could start training.

"My first day there, at the house, I met the Swordsman and the Winter Soldier. Bucky. But he didn't go by Bucky then, he didn't even –I asked him his name, and he didn't answer. He gave orders and it was obey or –get hurt. Hydra took training pretty seriously. They didn't give out blunt weapons. The Winter Soldier was there to teach me how to –how to kill."

"What was he like, the Winter Soldier?" Matt asked.

"He was… sad?" Clint said uncertainly. "When I first met him, I'd asked him what he did. I meant along the lines of what did he do for fun but he just said… he told me he taught kids how to kill."

"Did he seem like he enjoyed teaching you or the others?"

"It was just me," Clint corrected. "I was Hydra's new project. I wasn't their only one, I'm sure. He didn't seem to enjoy it. He –the Winter Soldier was methodical and thorough. He exposed every weakness I had when we were fighting and he didn't pull his punches as much as he could have. At least, I assume so, he left me with bruises but he didn't break my ribs or something and I'm sure he could have."

"Did he seem to like it though?" Matt asked. "Causing pain?"

"No," Clint said. "No, he –he did it because he had to. The Swordsman, Duquesne, was always watching him. Duquesne was worse. He was teaching me how to fight with swords and Bucky –the Winter Soldier, was teaching me hand-to-hand combat. He never apologized for hurting me, but he didn't leave me feeling like I was going to fall over dead."

"Did you ever see the Swordsman or any other Hydra agents punish Bucky?"

"Yeah," Clint said softly. "Yeah. Often, we got punished together."

"Why were you being punished, usually?"

"Usually because we refused to follow orders," Clint said. "Sometimes, it was because he didn't look apologetic enough or because he hadn't screamed loud enough."

"So he was sometimes punished again because he hadn't appeared to suffer enough during the first punishment?"

"Yeah," Clint said softly, exhaling softly.

"What form did these punishments take?"

Clint stiffened and straightened in his seat, fingers tapping on the arm of his chair. "Well there were a lot of them. Mostly, for starters, you'd get sent to the Interrogators. Hydra liked to keep theirs well trained, loss of asset or permanent damage wasn't tolerable…"

"Could you tell us, specifically, what forms of torture they used?"

"They started a day early, forcing us into a cell, bound so tightly you couldn't escape." Clint drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair. "They'd put blindfolds on us, so we couldn't see. It was sensory deprivation. No sleeping, no eating. No feeling. We couldn't talk." He shifted uneasily. "After that, they'd take us to the Interrogator. They liked to start with –with tearing your fingernails out," Clint said, his voice little more than a whisper. "The point wasn't to make us talk; it was to make us agree. To whatever plan they wanted, to see what our pain threshold could withstand. They knew what worked better on us –what made us cave faster. And they would use that knowledge to their advantage.

"They would bring me into Bucky's cell and start waterboarding me. In front of him," Clint swallowed, clenching his hands into fists. "What better way to guarantee his surrender than by torturing his only friend? When they –if I wasn't in shape to be brought in, if they were worried it could kill me, they would do things with fire. I don't know, exactly, what they did or how they did it. But the smell of burning flesh, his screams and the awful hiss of whatever they used, still haunts me."

Clint shuddered in revulsion. He smiled grimly, directing his attention to Matt. "I'd hear him start whimpering; pleading them not to do it. That's how I knew they'd pulled it out. And then there was the hiss as it lit. It was quiet down there. Just me and him and two Interrogators, one for each of us. They were torturers, the begging never made them stop. Sometimes it just made them angry."

Bucky flinched in his own seat as the memories flared up. It was a torch, like a welder's torch or something, he couldn't be sure. He couldn't stand to look at the thing. It was practically torture to just look at the torch, to know exactly what it was going to do to him. The scars along his ribs had nothing to do with the loss or gain of his left arm. They were entirely separate. It was just another way to control him, without the hassle of the machine, without the mess of spreading codes between too many agents. Stealing a glance at Clint, Bucky was relieved to see he wasn't the only one who had been drawn back to the moment. Their cells were next to each other and while they couldn't see each other, they could most certainly hear everything that happened to the other. And their two cells were located at the end of a hall, allowing every sound to echo around them.

Clint wasn't the only one looking a little out of sorts by his confession. Joyce's face had gone a sickly shade of white and Judge Palmer was turning a little green. Matt was the only one who wasn't obvious affected, but then he'd spent a lot of time walking through these horrors and others with Bucky and Natasha. Perhaps to give Clint a break, Matt drew the court's attention to a series of slideshows. They were pictures of Hydra interrogation rooms, including the one that had housed Clint and Bucky in West Virginia. It was a slideshow depicting the torture instruments available to them. Bucky closed his eyes and turned away from the familiar sights. They made his skin crawl. Someone, probably Foggy, had slipped around to set a fresh glass of water on the stand. Clint drained it in one gulp and rolled his neck in discomfort. He kept his gaze averted from the slideshow occurring next to his face. Matt narrated and described the use of the weapons, checking occasionally to verify their use with Clint.

The judge called a recess when the slideshow was over. In different circumstances, Bucky might have been feeling smug to see so many damp faces. But mostly he just felt bad for Clint and himself, for sharing their traumatizing past. But people needed to know. And it wasn't like the Hydra cases had even started going through the courts yet; most of them were locked up in jails. His testimony and Clint's would be the tip of the iceberg. Matt had told him that Wanda and Gwen were going to be on the stand, testifying against some of Hydra's goons.

Everyone filtered back in when the recess was over and Clint looked to be in much better spirits. Matt had him walk them through the horrors of West Virginia and emphasized on Bucky's poor treatment there, allowing Clint to talk about how he helped drag Bucky out of the Winter Soldier. It was a thankless task and was more effort than it was worth. But Clint was nothing if not persistent. It wasn't just determination on his part though, Bucky knew. Clint was alone and afraid and he needed a friend. So he made Bucky into being his friend by saving him from himself. He'd been out of his head for so long he hadn't known how to go back, how to change anything in his life.

"The defense rests, Your Honor," Matt said at last.

Joyce strutted up next, not even waiting for Matt to take his seat. She stood in front of Clint, one hand propped on her hip. "Mr. Barton, pardon me for being blunt, but you said you were fifteen when you met the Winter Soldier."

"Yeah."

"And you were orphaned, abandoned by your brother and left to your own devices under Hydra's… presence?"

"Yeah," Clint repeated, watching her with narrowed eyes.

"Isn't it equally as possible that your feelings for the Winter Soldier are a result of Stockholm syndrome?"

"Do I seriously have to answer that?" Clint demanded his eyes wide as he glanced between Matt and the judge. Both of them nodded. "No! It isn't possible. For one, Bucky –the Winter Soldier –wasn't in a position of power. He had more power and freedom than me, in the beginning, but he was treated like my equal. He was lesser than every Hydra agent –I saw them beat him just for blinking wrong. _Blinking wrong!_ "

"Control yourself, Mr. Barton," Judge Palmer warned.

"Yessir," Clint muttered darkly.

Joyce wasn't deterred by his outburst. "You were fifteen, isn't it possible that you could have unknowingly felt sympathy towards your poor, abused capto –"

"Objection," Matt called, barely standing. "Badgering the witness. He already answered that question."

"Sustained," Judge Palmer agreed.

Joyce hesitated for only a fraction of a second, inclining her head towards Judge Palmer to show she had been paying attention. "You mentioned earlier that the Winter Soldier didn't always refuse his orders. He didn't always fight against them. Was this true for the Starks?"

Clint stiffened. "No. He refused."

"What about with the Richmonds?"

"Who?" Clint asked, wincing apologetically. Honestly, the names didn't stand out to Bucky either. They'd assassinated a lot of people –Bucky more so than Clint.

Joyce grimly turned to the projector, pulling up a slideshow of her own making. "Rhonda and Tarice Richmond, influential politicians in Chicago," Clint shook his head vacantly. "They were found inside their home, security systems disabled, car still running and no sign of a break-in." She clicked a button and the screen changed to a crime scene photo. "Rhonda was found here," she said, pointing to the bed in the picture. "Her husband lay here," she pointed to the floor next to the bed.

Although the picture was grainy and taken in bad lighting, Bucky knew the dark stains were blood. He could tell from the amount of it that the murder had been violent. His memories painted the rest of the picture for him.

"I… couldn't say," Clint had admitted, when Joyce had finished describing the crime in vivid detail. "It sounds like one of the Winter Soldier's, but I might not have been with Hydra then."

Joyce made a small, triumphant noise and moved onto the next crime scene. There were eleven in total, including the Richmonds. Clint had only been able to identify one other case where Bucky had refused his orders and had confirmed that the rest of the crime scenes did appear to belong to the Winter Soldier. Bucky could remember each of the crime scenes and he knew that the nine Clint hadn't been able to confirm or deny, had indeed been situations where Bucky had not refused his orders. Some of them were from before Clint and a few of them were just a few years old. But they were all his.

* * *

"The prosecution calls Shonda Richmond to the stand," Joyce said smugly, the next day.

The woman couldn't have been older than twenty, with short black curls and an oval face. She swore on the bible and stared at Bucky curiously while Joyce made her way to the stand.

"Ms. Richmond, could you tell the court about the day your parents died?"

"I was eight," she said quietly. "I –I was asleep in my room. My parents had been out at a charity event all night and I'd gone to bed early. I was used to it." She glanced away from Bucky at long last, blinking away tears. "I heard a thump and I thought it was just my imagination." Her breath hitched. "I'm sorry, it's, it's hard to talk about," she exhaled breathily, shaking. "But I uh, I woke up when I hea-heard them screaming. And then there was a shot."

Bucky leaned back against his seat. She was lucky. She was so lucky. If he'd known she was there, he would have killed her. He wasn't in his right mind. It was after they'd taken his arm and shortly before he'd been loaned to the Red Room. In fact, his loan to the Red Room had been solidified after he murdered this girl's parents while she listened.

"I was the one wh-who saw their bodies," Shonda squeaked out. "I thought they might still be –but they weren't." She let out a dry, heaving sob. Joyce patted a tissue box closer to her and Shonda blew her nose loudly.

"I can't imagine how traumatizing that would be for anyone, let alone an eight-year old child," Joyce said sympathetically. "Did you talk to anyone about that night?"

"I spent ten years in therapy," Shonda spat, directing a glare at Bucky. "Because of _him_ , he _murdered_ my parents. I didn't have anyone else! I went into the foster care system. My parents were b-busy but they loved me. They loved me and they got ripped away from me!" She blew her nose again, wiping at her eyes with a fresh tissue. "S-sometimes I still have nightmares. I can still see them, h-how he left them. My last memory of my parents is their dead bodies!"

* * *

"Defense calls Rebecca Proctor to the stand," Matt said lightly, sitting down heavily. They were all tired. Bucky was willing to bet that Matt was more tired than he was.

Rebecca was their last witness. They'd sat through three days of Bucky's victims discussing in full, detailed length about the horrific nature of his character. It was painting a strong picture of how violent he had been and it certainly showed how many people he had affected. And after those three days, they had a few days break before they were back at the trial again. Natasha was first, followed by Clint, Phil, and Barney and now it was Rebecca. Matt insisted that despite their briefer witness list, all of them would be able to explain who Bucky really was. And after Rebecca's testimony, it would be Bucky's turn to take the stand.

Rebecca swore on the bible and took her place at the stand. "Rebecca, could you explain your relationship to the defendant? I'm afraid most people might not be aware of how you know him."

"He's my brother," she said simply.

Joyce inhaled sharply and started flipping through the papers in front of her.

"Could you tell us what he was like as a boy?"

Rebecca smiled at Bucky warmly. "He was protective, brave and _kind_ ," she said. "He was worried about –about Steve, all the time. We all were, because really, a stiff breeze could have killed Steve. But Steve was part of our family, too. And he was _always_ getting into fights. So Bucky taught him how to defend himself, he used to spar with Steve. I think they were about ten, then. I might've been five?"

"You said he was kind, could you elaborate?"

"I guess the best explanation for who Bucky is, really is, begins and ends with Steve," Rebecca said lightly. "Steve was sick a lot of the time and so he couldn't go outside. Bucky hated being cooped indoors, but whenever Steve was sick, he'd just go and stay beside him. He used to read to him, the classics mostly, because Steve liked those." Rebecca laughed, "Bucky hated all that stuffy writing –Robert Louis Stevenson, Alexandre Dumas, Charles Dickins –but they were Steve's favorites."

"Was that something he did just for Steve?"

"No, no," Rebecca said. "He stayed home to read to me when I was sick too. Granted, he only had to suffer through the Bernstein Bears and Curious George, but… He was also the kind of kid who didn't let anyone feel left out. Maybe that was why he and Steve got along so well. But he just couldn't stand to see some kid all alone. He'd always go over and make conversation, invite the kid into his circle."

"He sounds like someone you admired."

"I did, and I still do," Rebecca said. "He was kidnapped when I was only eight but he was my biggest hero. I thought the world of him."

"Did Bucky ever seem like someone who enjoyed hurting others?"

"No!" Rebecca said vehemently. "No, he hated himself if he even thought he'd hurt someone. Unless it was someone picking on me or Steve, then he didn't really care."

"What happened when he thought he'd hurt someone?"

"He always tried to make it better. Like the first time I'd asked him to teach me how to fight, because I wanted to be just like my big brother, we got into a real bad fight. And when he came home, he'd gone and bought me a popsicle and said that he didn't want me getting into fights like Steve." Rebecca chuckled softly. "I never wanted to be like Steve, I just wanted to be like my big brother."

"What hobbies did your brother have?"

"Objection," Joyce said, getting to her feet. "Relevance?"

"Prosecution wants to prove that he's always been inclined to murder regardless of circumstance. I'm simply establishing whether or not he went around torturing small animals in his free time."

Judge Palmer nodded. "Overruled."

Rebecca shared a tiny smile with Matt. "Bucky liked to read science-fiction and he loved spending time with Steve. But he was never alone at school or short of friends –everyone knew him or of him. He didn't like spending time on his own, or being trapped inside; he preferred to be out doing something. Whether it was just a walk or playing games. If he had no other option but to stay inside, then he would read."

"So he wasn't a loner, and he was fairly popular at school?" Matt asked.

"Objection!" Joyce snapped. "Leading the witness."

Matt raised his hand. "Sorry, I'll rephrase. Your brother was a popular person, sociable?"

"In general," Rebecca agreed. "But he preferred to spend time with just one or two people."

"Defense rests, Your Honor," Matt said politely, returning to his seat. He hadn't even sat down by the time Joyce had flown to her feet and stalked over to Rebecca.

"How old did you say you were when your brother went missing?" she demanded.

"Eight."

"And how old was your brother at the time?"

"He would've been thirteen."

Joyce paced down the juror's box. "How well would you say you knew your brother?"

"Quite well," Rebecca said edgily. "We were close."

"That's almost a six year age gap," Joyce pointed out. "How well could you have known him? He was practically a teenager at that age, already in the midst of puberty. There was plenty he didn't share with you, I imagine."

"No, we talked about everything," Rebecca argued. "We always talked."

"But there's a difference," Joyce crowed. "You can spend hours talking about nothing and think you really know a person."

"I lived with him," Rebecca said testily. "He was my big brother. Sure, I guess there could have been things he kept from me but when he wasn't with me he was with Steve. It's not like he was going around murdering people."

"What about now?" Joyce asked. "How well do you know the _man_ sitting in that chair?"

"He's my brother," she said simply. "We've had a few hours to get to know one another again –"

"But how well?" the lawyer demanded. "Do you think the man sitting in that chair is capable of killing someone?"

"Yes," Rebecca admitted slowly, "but –"

"Do you think he would do it again?"

"Only if, only to protect someone," Rebecca said faintly.

Joyce whirled to face the jurors. "He would kill to protect someone, you say. Is that acceptable in your opinion, Ms. Proctor?"

Rebecca scowled. "If it's to save someone –"

"No matter the circumstance, taking someone else's life is _never_ the answer!"

"My brother has always been saving people. Especially when Steve was involved, Bucky's as dangerous as –"

"You talk about this Steve plenty," Joyce fired back. "How do we know he wasn't part of it?"

Bucky couldn't help the snort that escaped him and he could see Rebecca was struggling to keep herself composed. It was a fair assumption, he supposed, that Bucky knew two different people named Steve. Unfortunately, that assumption was wrong. Matt tapped his cane against Bucky's foot and he attempted to duck his head contritely as he muffled his laughter. The idea of him and Steve planning anyone's murder when they were twelve and thirteen _was_ ludicrous. He wasn't that ambitious of a kid and Steve wasn't bloodthirsty. Steve was just passionate about saving people and helping others. He might have been a little overzealous about it at times, but they never hurt anyone.

"Steve," Rebecca said, fighting back laughter, "is Steve Rogers but he's better known as Captain America these days." She flashed an apologetic grin at Joyce. "And I don't think my brother and he were planning anyone's murders, back then or ever."

Joyce made an undignified noise as several jurors laughed. Most of the gathered crowd gave a chuckle or two as well.

"Nothing further," Joyce muttered, returning to her seat.

* * *

"Defense calls Bucky Barnes to the stand."

Bucky made his way up to the stand, ignoring the sense of eyes glued to him. He focused instead on the sound of his jangling chains. He swore to tell the truth, avoiding the bible, he didn't think anyone would really listen to him anyway. Matt and he had gone over the details of this procedure yesterday, as much as either of them had been willing to rehearse. Matt had agreed that the important thing was to be genuine and honest when he was on the stand. It might not win all the jurors over, but some of them would. And that was all Bucky wanted to do anyways –he just wanted to tell the truth.

"You went missing thirteen years ago," Matt said gently. "What happened?"

"I'd –I'd missed my best friend," Bucky said uneasily, scanning the crowd. He didn't see Steve. "He'd gone down to participate in some secret government project because he thought he wasn't good enough. And I decided that I wanted to go and see him. So I caught a bus down to New Jersey and along the way I met this woman." Bucky sighed softly. "She was in her twenties, nice and she happened to work at the facility Steve was at. It just came up in conversation, you know? She asked me where I was going; I asked her what she did for a living. She was a nurse connected to the project and she… she was Hydra. When we got to the transfer station, she hit me with a taser. Next thing I know, I'm waking up and I don't even know where I am."

Someone in the crowd sniffled and Bucky glanced in that direction without meaning to. He wanted to keep his attention on Matt; he didn't want to be distracted. But it was just Rebecca. She was sitting in the front row, a tissue covering her mouth. Sitting beside her was her husband, Dan, with his arm around her shoulders. Bucky recognized a few of the faces who had come to testify against him turn to glare at her. Rebecca had never known. Bucky grimaced, partly in apology and discomfort. And of course, once he had started looking he couldn't help but scan through the other vultures who had decided to show up today. Clint, Coulson and Natasha were huddled together next to Dan and Rebecca. And just a scarce few seats away from them were the men and women whose lives he had affected. Tony was seated in the second row, tucked away almost entirely out of sight. Next to him was his partner Bruce.

"What was it like, when you got to Hydra?"

"Terrifying," Bucky said honestly.

"What was the worst part about it?"

Bucky turned away from the audience who had shown up to watch this. Every seat was full. Everyone was here to watch him speak. "That's like asking me what's worse –a bullet wound or a knife wound." He reached to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. He made an effort to not sigh. "Everything was terrible –you had to fight if you wanted to eat, and only the winner could eat."

He went without food for as long as he dared, sharing the scattered remains with the sick kids, the ones who reminded him of Steve, the ones that weren't going to make it. But it quickly became apparent that it was going to be him versus them. And sometimes, those kids just quietly disappeared. He didn't know if they had passed away in the night and been taken by Hydra or whether Hydra had finished them off. He used to like to pretend that those kids had gone home. But as he got older, he knew better. So he fought and he ate as much as he needed. If he had extras, he let the other kids fight over them. Feeding the sick and dying ones wouldn't help them.

"It wasn't like it was good food either, it wasn't _home_. It was gruel or rice, usually porridge." Bucky sighed. "And when I say fight, I mean physically fight. You had to be the winner at the end of the day." He'd been lucky, a little bit older than most of the other kids there, taller, stronger and well-taken care of. Even after having starved himself for a few weeks, he was still in better condition that most of the other kids there.

"I was alone. You couldn't make friends there. If you did, it only lasted the evening because the next night they'd be coming to try and kill you. We weren't supposed to kill each other or anything like that, but only the top fighters got fed. There were maybe three of us who got fed. I gave what I could do the others, when I could, but I… I didn't want to die." He wasn't sure whether he felt sorry about that or not. "So I fought and I ate as much as I needed. And then, they hauled me off to the next step of training."

"The training, what was that like?" Matt prompted.

"It was hell. It was being taught every kind of hand-to-hand combat possible, learning how to use knives, learning how to kill people. I think I had three different trainers, mentors, really." Bucky paused uncomfortably. "The first one died in the field, the second died when he was fighting with some kid over a bowl of rice. The third, I don't know what happened to her, she finished my training and I never saw her again."

"And after that?"

"After that, they started sending me on missions."

"How old you were you?"

"Maybe fourteen?" Bucky shrugged. "It wasn't easy to keep track of time, in that place."

"From all accounts you were a brave, nice kid. How did you reconcile those pieces of you? I don't imagine Hydra had any patience for kindness."

"They didn't," Bucky agreed. "I let myself forget. At first, at first it was my choice. If I didn't remember my parents, my sister or my best friend, I could just forget who I had been. It was easier to not think of them, because if I couldn't remember them, I didn't have to worry about how disappointed they were in me. I didn't –I didn't want them to know what I'd done. So I just… pushed them away until I couldn't remember them."

"What was your first assassination like?"

Bucky glanced down at his hands. He turned his palms over, folding his fingers individually. "It wasn't the first time I'd killed someone, but it was the first time it had been intentional. It was in Louisiana. An Alpha there had started making noise about Omega rights and the Omegas had started flocking to his rallies. He was petitioning the government to change everything. I posed as an attendant of the rally, knowing that Hydra had left tracker chips in me, knowing that I was under surveillance, fearing that if I did something wrong, they would take it out on my family. I was a kid. I uh, I just walked up to him after the rally and told him how he was really changing my life. And then I shot him at point blank range."

"Did you ever try to escape Hydra?"

"Three times," Bucky said, taking a moment to glance at Matt.

"Only three?" Matt pressed, sounding surprised himself.

"They made sure you knew the consequences," Bucky said harshly. "The first time I tried was when they had just started training me, because I thought I knew enough to escape." He shook his head. "I didn't even make it out of the complex. They hosed me down with ice water and told me about how my parents had sold me because I was an ungrateful brat. The second time," Bucky's breath caught somewhere in his chest and he took a long moment to swallow it back down. "The second time was a few missions later, when I was back at the complex. I killed two guards and escaped; I hitched a ride back to New York…" He hated the way his body was betraying him, the way his hands were shaking and rattling his chains. "I'd dug out the trackers they put in me with a knife I stole from one of the dead guards, but they caught up in two hours." Bucky laughed blackly. "They shot out the tires, put a bullet in my rescuer's stomach and let me watch him die. And then they drugged me –and when I woke up? My arm was gone." He lifted his metal hand, "I had this instead."

"But you tried a third time? That must have been traumatizing."

"I had help," Bucky admitted. "And it was years later. Clint convinced me that we should make a run for it. I at last agreed when we had a solid plan. We disabled the trackers and took off to New York. I was out for six months, maybe, living on the streets and in back alleys. I was terrified that Hydra would find me again. And I didn't remember much, I didn't even remember that I had a family or friends, so I just hid. And waited."

"What happened after that?"

"Hydra found Clint and I went to go save his sorry ass." Bucky turned his gaze back to Matt. "I didn't know that they had been brainwashing me for years, putting codes in my head that would cause me to revert to the Winter Soldier. And that's what they did."

"How did they put those codes in your head?"

"They had a –machine. It was a neurological stimulator or something, among other things, and they had an Enhanced work on it with them. The machine had initially been designed to implant memories and knowledge –sitting under it for an hour; I could walk out knowing how to speak Mandarin fluently or other skills. It was very effective but they realized it had additional benefits. Working backwards, they could block away memories too. Until just a few months ago, I didn't know they'd been doing that."

"Did they ever block your memories?"

"Yes," Bucky replied quietly. "When they brought me back, after using one of those codes, they took them all away. They made me someone else."

"Were there times when you were the Winter Soldier that you refused your orders?"

"Yes," Bucky said.

"When?"

"I guess, the best example," and he winced at his choice of words, "would be with the Starks. I don't know how old I was, maybe eighteen? I knew their names; I could remember all the good that Maria did for people. And I knew that Howard made weapons, but he did it for the benefit of the country. They weren't _bad_ people. They were just people." Bucky couldn't help that he had turned towards the crowd, that his gaze had found Tony's. "I didn't want to do it. It wasn't –they always told me, what I was doing was for the good of the country. For the people. But I didn't see how killing them would help anyone. So they sent me to the Interrogators."

It was probably the longest stay he'd had with them, because he didn't understand. He was on the brink of uncovering their lies. It was the longest he'd refused their demands. In fact, when they sent him to kill the Starks, he was still stiff and struggling to move. But he was the best, so they waited for him. It wasn't a better of agreeing to their demands; it was just that he couldn't fight it any longer. They weren't even close to killing him, he was still enjoying the benefits of the serum Natasha had given him, but pain was all he knew. For however long he was there, it was just… pain.

"I don't know how long I was there, I just knew that I wouldn't do it because I didn't understand how it would help anyone," Bucky admitted quietly. "But there's only so much pain you can take before you'll agree to anything."

"So you never wanted to kill the Starks?"

"I never wanted to kill anyone," Bucky said vehemently. "But I didn't have a choice."

"How do you feel about what you've done as the Winter Soldier?"

"I feel… sad. I feel guilty and I know I'm responsible. It was my body, my hands; I was a tool in killing people. But I never, I never wanted that. I never wanted _this._ "

"What did you want?" Matt asked gently.

 _Steve_. The answer took him by surprise but he kept it trapped behind his lips. He didn't need to go admitting that in front of everyone in the world while Steve wasn't around.

"I wanted to go home," Bucky answered at last. "I wanted to go home and be a kid again. I wanted to grow up and go to school, go to college, see the world. Maybe fall in love. When I was a kid, I didn't care what I did so long as I could be with my friends and family. And when I got older, I just didn't want to do any of it."

"Do you regret having killed so many people?"

"How could I not?" Bucky asked tiredly. "They weren't my choice and I didn't have control over my actions. Sometimes I did, sometimes I could manage and I feel worse for every case where I couldn't manage a protest. I know I destroyed people's lives, their families, their futures. And I'm sorry I stole from them, what had been stolen from me as well." In some ways, he uniquely understood that.

Matt had him walk through the highlights of his traumatic years spent at Hydra, at the varied punishments he received. Bucky talked at length about Pierce's methods opposed to Duquesne's, Rumlow's and John Garrett's. Pierce and John had definitely been the worst of them. Not that any of them were particularly kind, but Pierce and John had gone out of their way to punish him for his very nature. He hadn't been sad to hear that Coulson had vaporized the man, but he had wished he could have been there. Matt made sure to draw attention to the fact that Bucky was always given orders and limited choices on how to proceed from there. And earlier in the trial, he had also brought in a psychological expert to explain about post-traumatic-stress-disorder and how that would have created a toxic and downright dangerous environment for anyone's psyche. Especially considering that if Bucky had shown any weaknesses, any fear, he was further punished for them. Joyce had also questioned the expert, drawing attention to how unusual Bucky's recovery was. It was the first time he'd wished he had brought Steve, if just so that Steve could prove he had spent _weeks_ recovering. And this trial was further proof that he wasn't done recovering yet.

"Thank you," Matt said. "No more questions, Your Honor."

Joyce actually gave Matt enough time to sit down before she was on her feet, crowding towards Bucky. He was almost grateful for the buffer that the box around him provided. He didn't want to be any closer to this woman than possible.

"How many people have you killed, Mr. Barnes, for Hydra?"

"I don't know," Bucky said.

"Could you give us an estimate?"

"No," Bucky admitted. "I have no idea." It wasn't like his targets were one individual; many of them had been two or more people or had occurred in public places. Hydra loved making a statement.

"No estimate at all?" Joyce repeated. "Why is that?"

"It's not like I only had one or two targets. I was in combat situations, I had to defend myself. I don't know who survived those fights, or if anyone did."

"On Hydra's orders, specifically," Joyce corrected. "How many assassinations did they send you on?"

"I was there for eighteen years," Bucky pointed out impatiently. "I. Don't. Know."

Joyce sniffed disapprovingly. "Why didn't you refuse every assassination? What was so special about the Starks?"

"I knew who they were. I knew of them," Bucky explained, feeling his patience wearing thin. He'd been talking for hours already. "And I couldn't refuse every order, I was programmed and controlled and I –"

"If you _really_ were programmed, how were you able to refuse to kill the Starks? Or escape, for that matter?"

"Sometimes, I would wake up. I would regain a little bit of me, if I recognized a name or someone. If I felt more… human. When I was a kid, I saw the good work that Maria Stark was doing to help out kids like Steve. I remembered my humanity, long enough to try and fight the order."

"How did you kill the Starks? Do you remember?"

"I cut the brake lines," Bucky admitted. "And then I waited until they'd lost control before I –before I shot them, to make sure the job was done. Howard had been able to get the vehicle stopped, using trees to slow down their momentum. He was probably lucky it didn't impale him, but he managed it. I had to –I had to make sure the job was done."

"How many days were you tortured before you agreed?" Joyce demanded.

"Objection!" Matt shouted, sounding offended.

"Sustained. This is a court room, ladies and gentlemen, not a boxing match."

"What about with the Richmonds? Did you have to be tortured into agreement for them too?"

"No," Bucky said quietly.

"Why did you kill them?"

"I was told to. I'd just finished physical therapy after I had lost my arm and gained a new one so quickly." He glanced away guiltily. "I didn't have the spirit in me to fight back. I think it was all the work they were doing in Chicago, they attracted the wrong kind of attention and I was sent. I don't think I even knew they had a kid. I just… I didn't want to hurt anymore."

"And you thought, what, by murdering someone else that would save you?" Joyce asked scathingly.

"Well," he answered softly, "they didn't torture me for doing what they wanted."

Joyce went over every case she had of his involvement, every case where she had representatives of the family present. It was agonizing but he went over every detail for her, for the victims and their families. When she was finally done wringing every detail out of him, the judge called for a break. The case would resume tomorrow with closing statements from each attorney. As the bailiff marched him out the side doors, back down to the prison he had come from, Bucky almost thought he saw Steve standing in the distance. But when he looked for him, there was no sign of the other man. He was just… gone, like he'd never been there at all. Bucky suddenly missed him with an ache he felt all the way in his gut. What did Steve think of him now? Did he think he was a murderer? No, that was stupid, Steve wasn't like that. Steve would never admit that was the truth of the situation. And even though their distance and separation had been because of Bucky's demands, he missed his friend. Due to the media attention and the fact that the Hydra trials were on hold until Bucky's case was determined, it had only been two months since S.H.I.E.L.D. fell. Two months and a handful of days since Bucky had last seen Steve.


	14. The Only Hope For Me Is You

"Bucky Barnes is a monster. He has murdered men, women and children indiscriminately his whole life. From the time he was thirteen, maybe fourteen; he has spent his life shedding other people's blood. Now, the defense is going to try and convince you that this is a result of Barnes' traumatic upbringing but he has openly admitted that he had free will and choice that he did not take. He chose to be selfish, he chose to think himself a god, to control who lived and died. He has put on a good show for you, but I beg you, don't be fooled by this man's guile. I have no doubt that should he go free, he will resume killing shamelessly. I fear he will start with the Hydra agents awaiting their court dates. He's already targeted his captors once, slaughtered who knows how many innocent men and women.

"Don't let this man's sob story win you over. He has ruined lives and family; he's had eighteen years to run amuck with no regard for the law or justice. You've heard from Tony Stark and Shonda Richmond. Don't let their suffering be for nothing. Don't let their parents' killer walk free. Bucky Barnes has told a good story but remember, he doesn't want to go to jail. He doesn't want to stop killing. When he was younger, maybe that was the only thing he desired, but it's been eighteen years since then. That man, sitting right there, will do everything in his power to get vengeance. Why shouldn't he pursue justice himself, like a vigilante? He may be friends with the Avengers, but we've all seen the actions they've taken.

"Bucky Barnes is not interested in redemption. Did you ever hear him ask for it? He isn't looking for forgiveness. He just wants this trial over so he can go back to his ways. He has no marketable job skills except for killing people –in six months, a year, where do you think he'll be? Taking contracts to kill more people. He has the same benefits as Captain America does, increased metabolism and strength –and we heard that the only person who could stand up to him would be Captain America, Black Widow –who are _both_ his friends. This is our only chance to stop Bucky Barnes for good. We cannot let this moment go to waste. If we do not teach this man the error of his ways, if we do not show him what _justice_ really is who's to say he won't go out on his own and start administering his own brand of justice?

"Don't let him deceive you," Joyce pleaded with the jurors. "Imagine if he got a new employer, someone who wanted to see an entire race demolished –do you think there's anyone who could stop him? Who would stop him? He's Captain America's best friend. Don't let that friendship blind you to the terrible things he is capable of doing. He's killed more people than even he can remember and we all know how he did those murders. They didn't stop at being clean, mercy killings. You saw those bodies, those crime scenes, did those look like the scenes of a reluctant killer to you? You've heard the victims' stories, how their lives were ruined irrevocably because of this man here. Do not let him go unpunished." Joyce nodded at the jurors and slowly made her way to her seat.

Her speech, as long winded as it was, was quite impressive really. Bucky was pretty sure she would have loved to see him dead and that she was just settling for seeing him go to prison for life. He wasn't sure what Matt had prepared for this moment but he was anxious and nervous. He didn't know how the situation as going to unfold, what the jurors would decide, but they would decide his fate for the rest of his life.

Matt slowly approached the jurors, smiling lightly. "Bucky Barnes never asked for redemption or forgiveness, because he doesn't think he deserves any. He turned himself into the police, he represented himself without legal defense and got himself sent to prison for the last two months. His defense is not guilty on account of having no choice, but he fully understands and acknowledges the damages he's done. He is a victim of his circumstance –he was stolen from his family when he was only thirteen. He never stood a chance against Hydra, against the adults with all the power who were determined to make him pay. Don't make him a victim for a second time. He has paid his price, he has given you the answer to every question poised and he has spent his time in jail. He has spent years being tortured and humiliated and forced to endure what no person should. Punish the people responsible for the deaths of these men and women –don't punish Bucky just because he was the weapon they used. Every death you can place at his feet was never his fault. He had no choice in the matter. And really, do you believe you would have done different in his shoes?

"Bucky came here of his own free will to face justice. He's never tried to escape justice. He's never been accountable to it before, because the fault, as I hope you can see, does not lie with him. Bucky has stated that he regrets what he was made to do, that he in fact, never wanted to kill people but he was left with no choice. He isn't a risk to the public. He is a risk to himself." Matt half turned, gesturing to where Bucky was seated. "This isn't a man refusing justice, this is a man who has _given_ his life for justice and is waiting to see how justice will treat him. Ask yourself this: would it be just to send him to prison for another man's crimes?" Matt inclined his head politely to the jurors before stepping away.

Judge Palmer rose to his feet as did the rest of the court room. He explained to the jurors what their duty was and sent them out to deliberate. Court was adjourned and Bucky was returned to his prison cell. He spoke to Matt once during the next week, wherein Matt explained that the jury still had plenty of time to decide before asking for an extension. And, Matt had also explained that if the jury did have to ask for an extension, it would likely mean a hung jury. Which no one wanted, least of all Bucky. He wasn't sure that he could bear to have to relive the entire experience again and he didn't want to tax anyone's resources too much. He still wasn't entirely sure that Matt was doing this for free, that Natasha wasn't somehow paying him. Friend of Natasha's or not, Matt had done more than Bucky had expected him to be able to do.

It was another week and a half later before Bucky was called back to court, to stand and await his sentencing. Provided that the jury hadn't deadlocked. He'd spent the last two and a half weeks panicking that the jury had indeed deadlocked. As such, he was anxious enough that he didn't notice Steve when he came into the court room. Bucky's attention was riveted on the judge, on waiting and watching as the jury slowly filed into their seat. Their faces were blank masks, composed entirely of steel and giving nothing away. None of them looked unhappy; none of them were fidgeting or restless. They simply sat down and allowed their speaker to step forward.

"We the jury find James Buchanan Barnes… not guilty on all counts."

Bucky stared in shock. He could hear Matt laughing, reaching over to pat his back. For a blind man, he was surprisingly well coordinated. When he had enough energy to rouse himself, to understand that a jury of his peers had found him _not guilty_ , he looked around the court room for his victims. Shonda Richmond was shaking her head, disappointed. Tony Stark was walking towards him. Bucky stumbled to his feet, shuffling over to Tony's feet despite the bailiff who was approaching with the keys to his handcuffs. It would be good to be free.

"Barnes," Tony said formally, staring at him. He stopped and thrust his hand out. "I'm Tony Stark."

Bucky shook his hand. "My friends call me Bucky," he informed the other man.

Tony grinned. "And I bet they called your sister Becky too, huh?" He drew back.

"No, actually, never," Bucky replied uneasily, unsure what to do with Tony in general.

"You should stop by the Tower sometime, lemme take a look at that arm. I could probably upgrade it something fierce."

"How do you not hate me?" Bucky found himself asking, ignoring the bailiff as he un-cuffed him and murmured a congratulations.

"Like the jury did, I find you not guilty," Tony said bluntly. "So. Come to the Tower, I want to get a good look at that arm before you do something stupid with it."

"What could I do with it?" Bucky asked, confused.

"Stick it in a socket or something, or maybe play with one of Widow's bites, whatever. Don't do it until I've had a chance to take it apart, capiche? Good, nice talk, later." And then he was gone, walking out of the court room.

Bucky never got to see Steve as he was released from prison. Instead, he found himself going back to Matt's office with him to search for a place to live. It was all very surreal. He'd spent the last three months in jail and now, just like that, he was free. He didn't really know what to do with himself. So he accepted Matt's advice and stayed at Nelson and Murdock's law office, job searching and house hunting. Natasha and Clint both dropped by, apparently equally familiar with Matt –well maybe not equally familiar, judging by the way Natasha put her arms around Matt. Clint kept his distance, wandering over to chatter.

In the end, they ordered celebratory Chinese food and invited Rebecca and Dan to join them. Steve was a forgotten thought, a distant friend that Bucky didn't know what to do with and no one mentioned him. It was so strange being back in the normal world, where people actually celebrated successes and wins. Rebecca and Dan both offered him a place to crash on his couch, but as tempting as that was, he was pretty sure his sister and her husband needed some alone time. Clint's offer was the decided winner however.

"I practically live at Coulson's," he said thoughtfully. "I'm just about never home and there are just the necessities there, a change of clothes for me, some cookware, furniture… you could crash, however long you need."

And that was how he ended up moving into Clint's apartment. It was Natasha who ended up bullying him into going to the nearby Veteran's Affair office, assuring him that she had a friend there who would help out. They would be the most equipped to deal with his issues. And between Natasha, Matt and Phil they had sorted out his medical plan and somehow found a loophole for his mental health to be covered by the government. He wished he'd known ahead of time that Natasha's friend in the VA was Sam Wilson, but Sam didn't seem to hold a grudge against him for anything that went down between him and Steve. Instead, Sam showed him around the building and introduced him to the psychologist who would be helping him cope with his trauma and the social worker who would help him reorient to his new world.

Without really noticing it, one month had turned into two. He was employed at a local florist shop and as embarrassing as it was, he enjoyed the work he did. He made beautiful bouquets, cut the flowers down and arranged them. It was like nothing he'd ever done before and it kept him busy. It didn't pay much but he hadn't been interested in it for that. He'd just wanted to do something different, something that would keep him busy. And one day, after he finished his shift, he walked up to the Avengers Tower and met with Tony. Tony chattered at him, opened up his arm and explained how it worked, what it was made from and why it worked. He told him what Hydra must have done to his arm in order to make all of it work and then he gave him the best news he never thought he would hear.

"I can increase the sensitivity," Tony informed him absently. "I can't believe they hadn't done that, the bastards were clever with this. But they could have easily given you sense of touch –it won't be quite the same as your right hand, but it'll be better. You'll sense if it's hot or cold, if you're holding something, you know?" He huffed, "Brutes," he muttered as he looked over the computer model scans.

"You can do that?" Bucky asked, surprised.

"I'm a mechanical engineer who likes to play with robotics in my free time," Tony said, sounding vaguely offended. "Of course I can."

"That would be, that would be great," Bucky said, feeling overwhelmed with gratitude.

It was always a struggle to not crush what he was holding because he couldn't feel anything with his vibranium hand. He always had to look and readjust and sometimes, with flowers and other delicate objects, it was too late to save them. He hadn't let it bother him when he was an assassin because he had no other option and it wasn't necessarily a bad thing to not have to feel what his hand was doing when he was in the middle of a fight. He didn't have to be careful about not killing anyone. He just had to kill them; how he did it didn't really matter. But it was something he was always distantly aware of, something that he often struggled with. It had become habit to look and see what he was doing so that he could readjust the strength of his grip and even that didn't always spare the object he was handling.

"Hey so, as thanks for this, when this's done," Tony said, as he poked around the wiring carefully. He'd already explained what he needed to do in order to allow the sensitivity to work, and while Bucky hadn't understood most of it, he felt reassured that Tony did. "You should go see Cap, or call him or something."

"Steve?" Bucky said in surprise. "He hasn't come to see me yet."

"You haven't asked him to," Tony pointed out, disconnecting a wire.

Bucky wiggled his fingers, just to make sure that they were still functional. "I wasn't aware I had to."

"You did tell me to tell him you didn't want to see him."

"That was only for the trial!"

"You know how he gets," was Tony's answer as he started playing around with the wires.

"I think I could manage that."

In the end though, it turned out that he didn't have to go see Steve because a week later as he was finishing up his shift and planning on phoning his best friend, said super-soldier walked into the shop. Steve seemed to freeze when he saw him, hesitating, his eyes wide. Unlike the last time Bucky had seen him, Steve didn't look like a hipster. He was in form fitting jeans with a navy jacket over a white t-shirt. He looked casual, all clean-cut and boy-next-door. If Steve were still only five foot four, he would have been adorable. But with his broad shoulders and muscled chest, he was just effortlessly handsome. Unlike Bucky who was wearing a pair of loose slacks, a t-shirt and the horrible olive green apron that identified him as a worker.

"Well you look good," he informed him, smiling his way. "Did you come here for some flowers?" he teased.

Steve rolled his eyes, leaning against the doorway. Bucky was glad he was the only one on shift –he was absurdly grateful that Steve was blocking the doorway. He didn't want to deal with a sudden last-minute rush of customers that he regularly got. If it could be a quiet night for once, that would be great.

"Yeah, I want something that says… 'congrats on not going to jail.'"

Bucky snorted. "You know, I don't think we have flowers for that occasion."

"Ah, you mean I'll have to go to a different florist now?" Steve asked lightly. "That's a shame. I like this store."

"No, I mean, I don't think anywhere sells flowers for that particular occasion."

Steve smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry if I'm being pushy," he said uncertainly. "I just… I wanted to say that I was glad you didn't go to jail. And I'm happy you're doing so well."

"I was going to call you," Bucky blurted. "I've been meaning to, all week, but I kept getting streams of customers at the end of the day and I was exhausted and it just didn't happen." He shrugged sheepishly. "So you're not being pushy."

"Well that's a relief," Steve said, with a small, sincere smile.

It wasn't the first time Bucky felt the desire, but it was the first time he was in a position to do something about it. In three steps, he brought himself to stand right before Steve and he leaned forward and kissed Steve. Just because he could, because he wanted to and he could. There was no one to stop him. Unless Steve had an issue with the kissing, but judging by the way he put his arm around Bucky and drug him closer, Steve did _not_ have an issue with the kissing at all.

"Missed you," Bucky murmured against his lips. "Missed you a lot."

Steve was flushed a light shade of pink, his blue eyes hooded in the evening light. "Yeah?" he murmured. "I can see that."

Bucky grinned at him. "I missed you so much that I'm not even going to ask how you found me here." He watched Steve fluster around answering the question before he grabbed Steve's hand in his metal one. He'd been doing that more often recently aware, that due to Tony's upgrade, he could control how much pressure he exerted. "So how about you come back to my place? We can have Chinese food."

Steve chuckled warmly. "That sounds great."

"And just so you know," Bucky said, stepping back from Steve, grinning at him mischievously. "I don't put out on the first date." He winked.

* * *

Many Years Later

Bucky sometimes had bad days, but over the years they got fewer and further between. He spent a total of six months working at the florist shop before he quit. But he picked up a few amusing habits from his time there. For instance, Steve could always tell when Bucky was stressing about something because he would inevitably end up making bouquets in their decorative vases. They had been a joke gift from Tony, when he learned where Bucky was working and they ended up being surprisingly invaluable. Bucky had built several window boxes where he grew a variety of flowers. On his bad days, they helped to ground him. He could remind himself that blood and violence wasn't all he was good at. Those six months they had spent apart, Bucky learned how to cook, and more importantly, he learned that he liked cooking. Steve was embarrassed to admit it, but he had a bad habit of forgetting to buy groceries and they had more than one or two arguments about it before Bucky moved in.

Bucky had been living in Clint's apartment for six months when Phil finally popped the question. And while Clint had made sure Bucky knew that the option was there for him, Clint was moving in with Phil officially and he wanted to know if Bucky planned to stay at his apartment. Bucky had appreciated the offer and spent time thinking about it before agreeing to move in with Steve –he used to say that it was because he didn't want Steve to starve without him. Steve certainly hadn't cared why Bucky moved in, he was just grateful he had. All of their friends were moving in their lives at the time –Tony and Bruce had already been married for a year, Natasha and Matt had been living together for about as long (it was hard to tell with them) and Phil had finally asked Clint to marry him. Granted, it took them nine more years before they got married.

They'd been dating for a year and living together for half that when they got into their first big argument, one that Steve had been convinced would be the end of them. Bucky wanted to join the Avengers and Steve was worried that it would be too much for him. Bucky'd been doing well, he'd been recovering. And when Steve had pointed it out, Bucky hadn't wasted any breath in pointing out the fact that Steve still hadn't really dealt with Monty's death. They didn't speak for a week, or if they did, it was terse and brief questions about dinner. Their house was full of slamming doors and cold shoulders. It took Sam _and_ Clint's involvement to even convince them to sit down and talk it out like adults. Even Tony had nearly gotten involved. But, at the end of the day, Steve wasn't in charge of Bucky's choices and he couldn't refuse his request. And Bucky apologized for taking the cheap shot. Things were still tense between them for a week or two afterwards, until there was a call for the Avengers. Bucky suited up and he fit in seamlessly with the team –even with Tony and the Hulk. It was too much effort to stay mad and neither of them had a reason for it.

A month after that, Brock Rumlow was placed on the stand along with a dozen more Hydra agents who had either directly or indirectly been involved with Bucky. And every time Bucky left to the courthouse to testify, he came back restless and sullen. It was almost like all the work he'd done for himself withered away, piece by piece, each time he had to relive his trauma in front of an open court. But it was his choice and every person who had ever mistreated Bucky deserved it. Steve ended up taking Bucky down to the local shelter and they adopted a dog. Much to the outrage of Tony Stark although it had taken Bruce's quiet, calm explanation before Steve understood why. (Apparently with Tony Stark, everything was a competition, even adopting). It was true that Tony and Bruce were together first –only because of Coulson's faked death, as Clint pointed out –and they were married first, they didn't get to adopt first. Not that adopting a dog was comparable to a child, but, it was Tony. How he qualified and measured events rarely made sense except to him.

They got married three years later in Wakanda with a threat of invasion hanging over their heads from a neighboring country. It was a lovely ceremony with all their friends present and Rebecca and Dan on Skype, holding their newborn as they watched the ceremony. It wasn't as well planned as it could have been, as Steve would have liked it to be, but he was just thrilled to be able to call Bucky his husband. They'd been dating for four years by that point, and Steve had been carrying the ring with him for six months trying to figure out how to ask. Rebecca and Natasha had both laughed at him when he'd called to ask for their advice on proposing. He ended up asking in the middle of a jungle, his hands pressing down on Bucky's gunshot wound. In his defense, he _was_ on his knees and secondly, it just slipped out. Bucky stated they were not wasting any more time and demanded they got married. So, with T'Challa's permission and a small gathering of their friends, they were married just before Wakanda went to war.

Bucky and Tony both became ill at the same time, that year. T'Challa was worried it was a local flu that had got to them, enough so that he had doctors brought to the men. However, much to their surprise, neither of them were sick. They were just pregnant.

"I can't be pregnant," Bucky had protested, staring at the doctor. "This is –this _can't_ happen."

"It has!" she had announced brightly.

Due to the cocktail of suppressants that Hydra had fed Bucky to keep his Heats from affecting him, his system was so out of order that there was no recovering from it. Except for the part where that was what Clint had been told –Clint, who did not have a drop of super-soldier serum in his blood. And while Bucky hadn't had a Heat once in the last three years, he had exhibited some milder symptoms. Bucky was thirteen the last time he had gone through a Heat –and because he had been going through hormonal changes on top of that, the way his Heat affected him was vastly different than it was currently. His milder symptoms consisted of a back ache and a sudden desire for physical intimacy. Eight months later, Bucky gave birth to a healthy baby boy. Much to Tony's joy, his daughter was older by a month –as he liked to brag. Sophia was born on October the thirty-first while Liam was born November first. And then, only a scarce three months later, they learned that Clint was going to have a miracle baby.

Avenging was put aside when it could be –when it couldn't be, someone was designated babysitter. Often Coulson or Bruce, sometimes it was Barney or Rebecca with a few of Coulson's closest friends or Fury. But for all that the Avengers were family, and most of them without parents and without siblings, to their children, they were the only family they knew. Steve was an uncle to Sophia and Gabriel Stark along with Katie Coulson. By marriage, he was an uncle to Avery. The Avenging business had slowed down, between Coulson's newly run S.H.I.E.L.D. and Agent Johnson's Inhumans team, the Avengers weren't needed as often. Maybe once or twice a year, but they still got paid from the government and from Tony Stark. Just in case, as they insisted. It left them with free time. More than enough free time for Bucky to convince Steve that he always wanted any child of his to grow up with a sibling. And so, a few months later, Caelin joined their small family. Tony and Bruce had a third child as well, only a few years younger than Caelin. And around that time, Clint and Coulson adopted a young child into their family. It had taken them years of paperwork, but they did it.

Natasha and Matt never adopted, but they took on babysitting duty grandly to relieve their friends of the burden. And when Matt wasn't busy beating up the criminal underground in Hell's Kitchen, he was fighting the elite in the court room. Following Bucky's not guilty verdict, Matt took on two new clients. He challenged the Alpha Council and their laws that could still allow them to control people and with plenty of reference to Steve's situation, and Tony's, Matt won the case. The other client he chose to represent was Grant Ward in a case against several of Hydra's elite and Ward's family. Steve couldn't comment on how successful Matt was with the criminal underground of Hell's Kitchen, but if it was anything like Matt in the court room, it was probably looking pretty clean. And then, somewhere between one blink and the next, Clint and Phil finally got married.

And in the next blink, Steve's sweet, young children were practically teenagers. Liam was thirteen, headstrong like his parents and determined to make a name for himself. Caelin was only eleven, mostly uncertain about everything except for the fact that boys were gross, Liam more so than the rest and that she wanted to grow up like her Auntie Nat. And despite how trying Liam could be in his stubbornness, all his teachers could talk about was what a nice and polite son Steve and Bucky had raised. Steve figured he should be grateful for that much, considering all the hardship Tony was going through with his eldest daughter. Sophia had taken after both of her fathers and possessed their sharp, genius wit. At thirteen, she graduated from high school and was promptly enrolled into her university of choice where she was studying a complicated form of chemical biology. At thirteen, she had decided that she was going to find a cure, some way to make willing Alphas and Omegas more like Betas. And unlike her, her brother Gabe was normal in every way. Except for his penchant for getting into trouble. Clint and Coulson's daughter Katie was apparently a tyrant in her elementary school classes –a good, benign tyrant, but a tyrant nonetheless as her teachers had taken to describing her.

And over the years, Steve watched their children grow up. Liam joined the football team but quit in his second year to join the school band –he had an ear for music, and he refused to be seen in public without his acoustic guitar. Caelin joined a softball league and started taking her self-defence classes with Natasha more seriously. He also watched his friends' children grow up. Sophia graduated from Brown when she was seventeen and then moved to England in order to attend Cambridge and resume working on her Master's Thesis regarding chemical-biology and the way hormones affected Omegas and Alphas. Gabe vanished for about three years, always glued to his cell phone or computer, nearly ten times worse than his father could ever be. Lucia, the youngest of the Starks, started high school. Katie joined an archery club, chess club and dance class and was generally kept so busy she didn't have much time to spend with anyone outside of her clubs. Aiden didn't follow in his sister's footsteps; instead, he managed to trip into every fight anyone was having at the school and somehow still got invited to every party. But he kept his nose clean of trouble, much to Coulson's relief.

Liam adopted his grandmother's maiden name and started a Youtube channel for his music videos in secret. He didn't achieve overnight fame, but it went towards building his portfolio as he studied music. Caelin decided to become a police officer, taking after her Aunt Rebecca. Her cousin Avery, quite by happenstance, ended up working at a florist's part-time while deciding what to do with their life next. Sophia finished her Master's work and moved onto her Doctorate –she insisted that she was on the verge of a breakthrough. And it seemed like one day, Gabe lifted his head up from his tablet and he was suddenly an adult. He didn't have braces, his acne cleared up and he added some nerd glasses. As far as everyone had known, Gabe seemed like the most lost out of the Avengers' children, but he started college and managed to walk out with three different diplomas and two robots following him around. And little Lucia graduated high school. Katie went to the Olympics. Aiden decided to go with a gap year and he flew to Portugal and made his way across Europe.

One day, Steve turned to Bucky only to find that their house was empty and Bucky had a grey hair. They learned that the serum didn't age them at the same rate as everyone else. Like Natasha, the two of them still looked to be in their mid to late twenties. These days, their own children looked than they did. But with some degree of youth, came its benefits. They watched as their children got older, got married and had babies of their own. Sophia _did_ find a cure treatment for the downsides of being an Alpha and an Omega and brought them closer to the Beta scale of things. It was optional and free to those who wanted it, courtesy of the Maria Stark Foundation. Gabe started a new school for robotics in Maine where he had retired. Lucia always stayed close at home with her aging fathers. Katie retired from the Olympics long enough to go to school and walk out with enough education to start coaching future athletes. Aiden became a government translator.

Phil eventually retired from his position as Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. and gratefully handed it down to Daisy Johnson. Steve wasn't sure if he'd ever seen Clint happier than the day he got his husband back from his job. Neither of them faulted the other for where their passions lay, but Clint had started to miss his husband. In the end, Clint made sure Phil understood exactly what relaxing meant and what it entailed. Mostly it featured Dog Cops, pizza and cuddling. Tony never quit tinkering or building new things –and he never did stop dragging Bruce into it with him. But that was how they worked. And Steve started volunteering at an art program for kids from Brooklyn while Bucky started working at their local Veteran's Affairs office. Bucky understood the challenges better than most and he did amazing work.

And, at the end of the day, when Steve came home covered in pain splatter, it was to find Bucky watering his flowers. Home was Bucky, and it was a variety of flowers with just a hint of spice. The few times he was home before Bucky, nothing ever felt the same. He figured that was probably how his whole life had been. On his seventy-seventh birthday, walking back home through the city, he stopped a pickpocket and an armed robbery. He figured, he was doing pretty good for an old man. Their grandkids called every weekend and they still kept in touch with the other Avengers. But in the new society they were watching change and grow around them, the Avengers had slowly grown into legend. Tony Stark would always be a legend regardless of his time spent as an Avenger, so even though he was still photographed whenever he left the Tower, few journalists linked him to Iron Man anymore. Between Matt and Rebecca's hard work, they'd made waves of differences in how police had to operate and they established a code for all officers to follow.

And, nearly fifty years after Bucky had almost assassinated him, the last surviving member of Hydra died in prison.


End file.
